Repaying Debts
by xaritomene
Summary: When Hermione got drunk after Victor Krum left her for a nice Bulgarian girl, she wasn't expecting to get taken back to her room by Draco Malfoy. But, Firewhiskey has a nasty habit of screwing up morals, and repaying her debt to him becomes... well.
1. Chapter 1

Bad decision number 367: Going out with Viktor Krum.

Hermione Granger read, and re-read the Owl several times over, attempting to leech the smallest amount of affection from the _un_affectionate words of the letter. The meaning was simple: She was dumped.

Viktor had never really been good with words - being more of a physical person - and he hadn't even tried to soften them in the Little Message of Doom. It was too hard, he felt, to have a relationship over a continent. Also, his Quidditch career was at its peak, which meant he wouldn't have much time for the in-depth conversations they were used to. Finally, he'd met someone else, a nice Bulgarian girl - Hermione would like her -, someone who didn't object to going further than a kiss on the cheek. He wished her well for the future, Viktor Krum.

Huddling lower in her chair in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione viciously swiped at the tears that threatened to start flowing. She shouldn't cry. She should wish the girl well. Yeah, right.

Harry and Ron watched her worriedly from the doorway.

"How long has she been reading that letter for?" muttered Harry.

"2 hours now," Ron checked his watch, "maybe 3."

Harry studied his friend who was curled into a ball of misery, and turned to Ron.

"Have you still got that bottle of Firewhisky under your bed?"

Ron glanced at him suspiciously. "Yeah, it's hidden under the invisibility cloak. Why?"

"We should give it to 'Mione. She looks like she needs it."

Ron scowled. "No way. It took me a _month_ to save up for that!"

"But _look_ at her!" Harry pleaded. "Come on, Ron, I'll buy you another one for Christmas. OK? She needs to drown her sorrows for a night."

Ron thought. "Make it 2," he snapped, and grumpily went upstairs to the boys dorms.

Hermione sat, slumped, staring into the fire, re-living all the memories she had of her relationship with Viktor: Her summer in his mansion in Bulgaria… skiing in the Alps… searching for the archaic book of old spells in his father's vast library…

She jumped as the Owl was twitched out of her numb fingers. Staring at Harry, she tried to recollect, vaguely, who he was.

"Here you go, 'Mione," he said, gently.

A bottle was pushed into her hands, and she gripped it as though it was her last ticket to Heaven. Then she read the label, and her eyes widened.

"What - Harry, no! It's - it's _illegal_ for us to have this, we're underage!"

She glanced up. Harry had gone. Sighing, she put the Firewhisky firmly aside, beside her chair, and returned to her memories.

"She's not going to drink it," hissed Ron to Harry from beneath the invisibility cloak.

"Give it time," muttered Harry, back. "That girl has an overwhelming sense of curiosity."

"Well, she better start drinking fast. I've got an extremely pressing engagement with Lavender in the Third Floor Corridor."

The minutes ticked by. Hermione grew steadily more miserable. No matter how hard she tried to stop it, her mind kept returning to the bottle beside her chair. Tapping her fingers on the arms, she fought to keep herself from grabbing the bottle.

"I give it 3 more minutes," murmured Harry. "Four at the most."

"How do you know?"

"She's doing that tappy-thing with her fingers again."

Maybe one little taste wouldn't hurt. She could cope with Butterbeer, anyway. She'd managed to stand upright when most of her year-mates were legless at the last party in the Room of Requirement. How bad could Firewhisky be?

She reached for the bottle, and gingerly unscrewed the lid. Lifting it to her lips, she took a gulp.

And choked.

Spluttering, she managed to swallow the rest of the mouthful. Then smiled as a warm feeling spread from her mouth to her toes. Feeling braver, she took another sip from the bottle. The alcohol, warmed by the fire, wrapped her in a little cocoon.

Tonight she would exorcise the memory of Viktor Krum.

Draco Malfoy, Slytherin sex god and general fiend, wandered out of the Quidditch cabin, lazily zipping up his jeans. Looking at his shirt, he winced. The buttons were beyond hope. As he turned to leave, he heard a low moan of satisfaction from the hut behind him. Alarmed, he picked up the pace. If that Hufflepuff had come round from _petite morte_, he didn't want to be there when she decided she wanted a second ride. What on earth had possessed him to take on that girl? She was only reasonable in the sack after all, and she had the intellectual field the size of a small puddle.

Slinking round the side of the pitch, and turning left by the lake, he slipped into the castle through the side entrance that only Slytherins knew about. Finally slowing down, praying he'd lost the girl, he sauntered through the corridors, glaring at the pictures as he passed. He didn't care about walking around the castle at night. Filch owed his father, and security was always lax around the Slytherin area of the castle. Slytherins didn't need protection from Voldemort.

"Drakie-poo!"

Voldemort or not, he needed protection from the Ghosts of Conquests Past. By the sound of her less-than-mellow voice, the Hufflepuff was pretty close. Making a rapid decision, he virtually threw himself into a nearby deserted classroom, and silently shut the door. Turning around, he stopped dead in his tracks, and stared.

Lying in a heap on the floor, was Hermione Granger, completely out of it

Intrigued, he came forward to take a closer look.

"Could tonight get any stranger?" He wondered, aloud. "First, I escape from little Miss Mowbray unscathed -" looking at his shirt "- well, almost, and second, I find Granger, lying in what seems to be a drunken stupor."

Leaning forward, he cautiously poked her with a long forefinger. Seeing that this prompted nothing from her but a snore, he grinned.

"Well, well, Granger, what _have_ we been doing?"

Spotting the bottle, he tugged it out of her grasp. He glanced at the amount left in the bottle and whistled.

"I'm impressed, Granger. A whole bottle of Firewhisky, and you didn't pass out over just half? That's some feat."

Standing up and walking back to the door, he was about to leave, when a nagging thought came into his mind. Looking back at the pathetic, snoring figure, he sighed, and stomped back to her.

"I suppose you _know_ I can't leave you here like this. You're lucky, Granger. For some reason unknown to man, I'm in a good mood tonight. I'll dump you outside Gryffindor so you can hope that one of your heroic little friends comes to pick you up."

Picking up the bottle of Firewhisky, he swallowed the remaining contents, and threw the bottle out of a nearby window.

"Plus, in a way you're doing me a favour. By going to Gryffindor, I'll hopefully be out of reach of Selena Mowbray. She wants me to screw her again," he added, by way of explanation, "And I'm kind of tired of getting no satisfaction and all my shirts ripped."

Crouching down by the girl, Malfoy gently turned her onto her back, brushing her hair out of her face. Propping up her knees, he noticed how long her legs were. Looking at her legs drew his eyes upwards, and he scanned her figure. For the second time that night, he gave an appreciative whistle.

"What else are you hiding under those robes, Granger?"

Sliding one hand under her shoulders, and the other under her knees, he stood up, carrying Hermione in his arms. He scowled at how light she was.

"You should eat more," he told the unconscious girl. "Then again, you probably prefer work to food. Work to sex, too."

Kicking the door open, he set off down the corridor. When he got past the Third Floor Corridor, a thought suddenly hit him. What on earth was wrong with him? This girl was supposed to be his hated enemy, and yet he was cradling her in his arms. It must be something he'd eaten recently. Why hadn't he left her there? Normally he'd have been only too happy to do so. Definitely something he'd eaten. Or maybe it was a combination of boring sex with attempted escape from Selena Mowbray that was making him light-headed. And she was a Mudblood, who didn't deserve to belong to his world. He shuddered to think what his father would do if he knew what Malfoy was doing now.

"Maybe it's the Firewhisky," he murmured.

Turning into the Gryffindor corridor, he was greeted with a yell of fury.

"Get your filthy hands off her!"

"Well, well," Malfoy drawled. "Saint Potty and Weasel King. My day is complete."

Harry and Ron hurtled towards him, snarling curses. Holding out his armful of Hermione, Malfoy curled his lip disdainfully.

"I think this belongs to you," he said, and tipped Hermione into Harry's outstretched arms. Carefully, Harry laid Hermione on the floor. Meeting Ron's eyes, Malfoy carefully wiped his hands on his jeans. Ron snarled and lunged forward, held back - barely - by Harry.

"If you've done anything to her, you bastard -"

"I wouldn't want to get my hands dirty," snapped back Malfoy. Seeing Ron strain forward to get at him again, Malfoy grinned, gave a careless wave, and sauntered back down the corridor.

"Nighty-night, children."


	2. Chapter 2

Ha ha! Chapter 1 has been edited. It's a bit longer... thank God. Here's Chapter 2...

* * *

Chapter 2

Hermione awoke. Licking her dry lips, she gave a little moan.

"Bad decision number 368: drinking any sort of liquor," she croaked, cradling her head in her hands.

"How's the hangover?" Harry's head appeared round the door, grinning wickedly.

"It feels as though 10 mountain trolls are line-dancing inside my skull," Hermione groaned. "_Never_ give me that stuff again. From now on, I'm sticking to Butterbeer."

"It's got quite a kick, hasn't it?" said Harry, happily. More seriously, he asked: "How are the bruised feelings."

Hermione sighed.

"So-so. I mean, I no longer want to apparate to Bulgaria and perform an emergency castration. Especially since it's impossible to apparate in the Hogwarts grounds, that is…"

"I know," said Harry, too patiently. Hermione gave him a wan smile.

"I'll be fine, Harry. God, how much did I _drink_ last night?"

"I've actually no idea: You kind of lost the bottle on your little trip around the castle." Harry fought to keep a straight face as he took in Hermione's horrified expression.

"You mean I _left the Gryffindor common room?_" she asked in a mortified whisper. "How _could _I? What if people saw me?"

"I'm not sure that they did," Harry assured her. "I've asked around if anyone saw anything particularly strange last night. So far no-one has mentioned Hermione 'Book-worm' Granger wandering around singing with a bottle in her hand."

"Good." Hermione's voice was muffled as she attempted to soothe her sore head. Looking up again, she took in her surroundings. "Where am I, exactly?"

Harry looked faintly embarrassed.

"You're in my bed. We tried to get you up the stairs to the girl's dorms, but after Ron had been chucked down 4 times, we decided it was probably easier to just bring you in here. Girls are more trustworthy than boys anyway." He grinned.

"You're awake!" Ron walked in, sporting a black eye and a number of bruises on his arms and face.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"That staircase happened to me. It's no picnic trying to get an unconscious person up those stairs when the stairs turn into a slide and the statues holding up the banisters try to punch you in the face." He indicated his black eye. "So how are you?"

"I feel terrible. Apparently I drunk quite a lot and I now have a headache worthy of Grawp."

"Welcome to the human race!"

"I'd no idea drinking yourself senseless was a qualification," Hermione retorted, coldly.

"OK, OK, keep your hair on! You've slept for ages, so we told McGonagall you were ill and Madame Pomfrey told you to rest."

"How long have I been asleep for?"

Harry squinted at the ceiling, counting back the hours.

"Well, you started drinking at around 9pm last night -"

"How do you know?" demanded Hermione, sharply.

"Never mind," continued Harry, hastily. "Ron went to his - er - little rendezvous with Lavender at 9:15, and you, well, left at half past. I went to see Ginny at quarter to, and then I didn't see you until you were brought back at about 11 -"

"What?" gasped Hermione, sitting bolt upright. "_What_? Someone _brought me back?_ Someone _did_ see me! Oh, God, who was it?"

Harry gulped, and searched for an alternative.

"You weren't brought back; I meant - ah - found your way back -"

"Harry, you may be a hero of sorts, but you are a hopeless liar. Who brought me back?"

"He's not lying, 'Mione," muttered Ron, his face going bright red.

"And you're even worse – and my name's _Hermione_, Ron." Hermione stood up, ignoring the complaints from her head. Folding her arms, she tapped one foot impatiently. "Who brought me back?"

Ron mumbled something that sounded like 'Mimblewimble'.

"Say again?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"Malfoy. Malfoy brought you back."

Hermione looked dazed. "I need to sit down."

Her knees buckled, and she landed with a soft 'flump' on the bed.

"You can't be serious…" she breathed. "That's even worse…God, what am I going to do?" She wailed. "I mean, he's never going to let this go."

"If it's any consolation, I don't think he wants to be reminded of it any more than you do. Come on: Draco Malfoy, arch-ferret and Muggle-born-hater? I think he'd rather swallow his Nimbus 2001 whole than admit to doing anything decent to you."

"You've got a point," Hermione admitted slowly. Ron nodded.

"Just don't bring it up, and let him continue treating you like dirt. No-one will ever suspect," Ron advised.

"One problem."

Harry and Ron looked at the girl.

"I owe him one, now." Hermione said, grimly. "I'm in his debt. He helped me; I have to do something to help him back."

"Hermione, no!" Harry scowled at her. "You don't owe that bastard anything, not after the bullying, the name-calling, the let's-make-Granger's-life-a-misery…"

"If it wasn't for him, I'd still be passed out in the castle somewhere, no doubt being laughed at by a group of first years," Hermione flared up. "I owe him."

"You have an overblown sense of fairness, 'Mione - Hermione," Ron sighed. "Fine - admit defeat. Just tell us if he starts anything wanker-ish."

* * *

Malfoy stood outside the dungeons, waiting for potions to start. Surrounded by his fangirl club (otherwise known as the Mobile Brothel), and his groupies (wannabes, fakers, whatever) and his bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle (Tweedledum and Tweedledumber), he could hardly see out of the protective admiring circle they formed around him. Staring impassively beyond his fans, he caught sight of his 3 favourite people: Potter, Weasley and Granger. He smirked. It was surprising that Granger could actually stand up. She must have one hell of a head today. They seemed to be having some sort of argument. Interested, he raised pale eyebrows to see over the head of his solar system.

Suddenly, Granger turned away from her little pals. In his direction. And started purposefully striding towards him. He winced, and swiftly stepped away from his gang to speak to her, grabbing her arm, and virtually dragging her away where they couldn't be heard.

"Malfoy –" she began.

"Kindly do not address me in public!" he hissed. "Listen, Mudblood. I don't know what the hell was wrong with me last night, but let's make it very clear that we do not mention it to _anyone._ You understand?"

"Malfoy –"

"Don't even bother, Granger. Unless, of course, you want to sock me one for going near you? By all means, be my guest." Malfoy spread out his arms leaving his stomach and chest exposed for a punch.

But not the sucker-punch.

"_Malfoy!_ Will you _shut up_?" snapped Hermione. "Listen. I just wanted to – thank – you for – for helping me last night. You didn't need to."

Malfoy opened his mouth.

"Don't say anything. Knowing you, it'll be something sarcastic and cutting. I wanted to tell you that if you need anything – which you probably won't – and you think I might be useful, just tell me, all right? The sooner this debt's paid off, the better."

With Malfoy gaping like a fish, Hermione turned to leave.

"Hang on, Granger."

Sighing, Hermione faced him again, and lost her breath at the cruel amusement in his eyes.

"Thank-you, Granger. You've put a slant on this I hadn't thought about yet. Well, well. Granger in my debt. I'll have to see what I can do about this, won't I?"

"If you make me do _anything_ –"

"No, no, Granger." Malfoy moved until he was inches away from the girl, and whispered in her ear. "I'm not going to do anything. I'll let _you_ decide."  
Leaving her completely pole axed, he brushed past her, and left.

Harry ran to her.

"What did Ferret-arse want?"

Hermione shook her (sore) head, and walked on past him.

* * *

"I still don't know why you kept doing Muggle Studies for NEWTS, Hermione," said Ron, as they trudged together towards the classrooms. "You're Muggle-born! You know everything anyway."

"And I've told you, Ron," retorted the girl, gasping from the effort of keeping up with his strides, "it's fascinating studying them from a different point of view."

"Suit yourself. Mad," Ron told the ceiling. "Absolutely mad."

Hermione gave him her best haughty look, and pushed open the classroom door.

While the rest of the class slumped on their desks, bored to tears as the supply teacher droned on about the benefits of electricity, only Hermione stayed partially alert to criticise the very patchy knowledge of Muggle needs. They should employ better teachers at the school, she thought, disapprovingly. Stretching, something behind her caught her eye. Turning her head slowly, she met the silver-blue eyes of Malfoy, barely slits as he studied her, blond head resting on one arm. Seeing her notice him, Malfoy gave his vampirical smile, and raised one eyebrow.

Intimidated in spite of herself, Hermione looked away.

"Homework!" bellowed the supply teacher. "And I've got some to give back to you from Professor McGonagall. She asks me to remind you that your NEWTS are only 3 terms away: That, therefore, does not give you the right to sit on your backsides being smart-arses. However, she wants to congratulate Hermione Granger on her excellent work so far this term."

Here, nearly everyone rolled their eyes, and sniggered to one another. Hermione simply yawned, stretching again. Unseen by her, Malfoy blinked. Thoughts of the figure she hid so well under robes had bugged him all night. Stretching that far back, she nearly gave him a perfect view down the front of her shirt. He leaned forward, almost imperceptibly. Closer… he could almost see…

Slap!

The paper hit the desk in front of him with unnatural force. Raising his head to hiss something at the teacher, he caught sight of the mark given him, and winced.

T. Troll.

Hermione, out of the corner of her eye, saw it too. She also saw the sullen, humiliated look on Malfoy's face, quickly concealed by the trademark smirk, and an idea hit her.

The bell rang, and the class scrambled over each other to get out of the classroom. Hermione lingered behind, and slipped out after the rush. Malfoy stood in a shady corner, quietly lighting a cigarette. Clenching her fists, she approached him. As before, he left his fan-club to talk.

"Muggle Studies," Hermione said, quietly. "I can help you with Muggle Studies."

"Oh yes, Granger?" Malfoy's voice was pure venom. "What makes you think I need help?"

"Anyone who gets a 'T' shouldn't be doing a subject," Hermione retorted, coolly, gratified to see Malfoy's jaw tighten. "Like it or not, Malfoy, you need help, and I can help you."

"Is that the best you can do, Mudblood?" snarled Malfoy.

"Take it or leave it, Ferret-boy."

And with that, she left him in the corridor, pausing to call after him,

"Wednesdays, 8pm, Charms Classrooms."

* * *

There you go - hope you enjoyed!

Lol, xari xxx


	3. Chapter 3

Hey-up! Many thanks to all those wonderful and most brilliant people who reviewed. Some have been asking why Draco's taking Muggle Studies - worry not, this will be explained later...

Riiight! Next installment...

love you all, xari

* * *

Hermione Granger sat in Charms Classroom 7, reading the latest book she'd stolen from the library (Madame Pince had forbidden her to take out more than 30 books in one go. Hermione didn't approve of stealing, but, for books…), and listening to the rain patter on the window outside.

"To cast a living-dream spell," she muttered, as always. "First, take the wand, and with a strong, upward flick –"

The door slammed, and she squeaked, looking up from her book. From out of the shadows moved Draco Malfoy.

"Before you say _anything_, Granger," he snapped, "let's lay down a few rules:

One: As I have said, you do not address me in public. Two: You do not tell anyone about this – arrangement, understood? Three: You will not treat me like a student, Granger. I'm not McGonagall, and I won't just cut house-points. Four: I dictate how long the lessons are. Five: You give me any homework, and I will hex you into next week. How does this sound so far, Granger? _Granger_?"

Hermione was staring at him, completely dazed. Bloody hell. _Bloody hell…_

There was no doubt about it. Draco Malfoy was now officially gorgeous.

When the hell had that happened?

His blond hair was tousled and damp from the rain; he'd given up that awful plastered-down look he'd kept for 3 years. From being somewhat of a runt, he was now over 6ft tall, and most of that was leg, accompanied with narrow snake-hips. Quidditch had filled out his broad shoulders, and the rain gave her the view of a body under the soaked shirt that made her gape. His high cheekbones were so sharp you could cut yourself with them, and his complexion, as always, was perfect. His eyes – why had she never noticed before? – were a beautiful deep sapphire, which faded to glimmering silver at the edges.

And were at that moment narrowed at her.

"_Granger_!"

"Wh – What?" Hermione stammered, shakily.

"Stop staring at me like I'm dirt off the floor. That's you, remember."

He was still a bitch. That hadn't changed. Recovering her senses, she flashed him a contemptuous smile, and reached for her bag. Taking an assortment of objects from it, she placed them on the table in front of him.

"What the fuck are these, Granger?"

Granger sighed, then picked up an object, and tapped it with a slender forefinger.

"This, Malfoy," she said, patiently, "is a mobile phone. Muggles use it to communicate with one another over long – or short – distances. This is my mobile. Take a look. And don't try to hack into it with magic. It won't respond."

She held out the mobile to him.

Malfoy took it, and turned it over in his long fingers. Flipping the top, he noticed the buttons and a screen. Tentatively tapping it, and seeing it do nothing, he raised his eyebrows at the girl.

"So what does it do, Granger?"

Hermione moved her chair to sit next to him, and then hesitated.

"I'd come and show you, but you won't want a filthy Mudblood sitting next to you, will you?" She remarked, with a twisted smile.

Malfoy scowled at her.

"How else am I going to learn anything? Hurry up."

Sitting next to him, she took the mobile from him, and pressed a button. The screen flashed into life, and rang out, jauntily.

"That's how you turn it on." Hermione explained. "This is the charger. With mobiles, if the battery doesn't have enough energy, it won't turn on, or – even worse – it'll just turn off in the middle of a call, and leave you hanging. You have to charge it to get the battery up to speed. You _do_ remember what the battery is, don't you?"

"I'm not stupid, Granger. Leave the boring stuff. What can you do with it?"

Hermione glared at him, and gave the mobile back.

"Type in these numbers using the buttons, and when I tell you, press the button with the green telephone on it. Ok?"

Grabbing something else from her bag, she stalked out of the classroom, and slammed the door. Confused, Malfoy started to follow her. Granger's voice floated through the door.

"Stay where you are, Malfoy. Just type in the numbers."

Scowling at the mobile, he pressed the buttons, and waited for more information.  
"Ok, press the green button, and then put the mobile to your ear."

"This is too fucking bizarre," Malfoy muttered, but did as he was told. He jumped, aware of a buzzing coming from the mobile. Suddenly a blaring tone came from it, and he jumped again. Not sure what to do, he let the blaring noise continue.

Suddenly it stopped, and Granger's voice came out of the mobile.

"Hey Malfoy, say something."

"Granger, what the hell is going on? Where the hell are you?"

"You're making a phone call to me, and I'm in Transfiguration 4," Granger answered, tetchily.

Malfoy gaped. Transfiguration 4 was ages away, virtually on the other side of the Wing.

"How did you get there so quickly?"

"Never mind. Now, press the red button, and wait for me to come back."

Within 3 minutes, she arrived, panting slightly, but looking somewhat exhilarated.

"See? You just made your first Muggle phone call."

"What am I supposed to do? Clap? Malfoy sneered, sarcastically. Strangely, Granger's face fell a little, and she glared at him with wrath anew.

"Stop being a smart-arse and listen. Muggle phones can also send text messages. These are like little Owls…"

Head reeling, Malfoy walked out of Charms 7, rubbing his head. Granger, anxious to move on, had crammed him with information about mobiles. As much as he hated to admit it, he had learned more in an hour with Granger than he had in weeks' worth of lessons from the teachers. She had an interesting practical approach.

Hiding in the shadows, he lit another cigarette, and breathed in the smoke. He froze, hearing something from the classroom. A soft humming came from the room, along with the banging of heavy books on a table. He repressed a snort, with difficulty. Granger singing? What had gone wrong?

Granger came out of the classroom, bag slung over her shoulder. She'd changed her clothes. The unflattering robes they wore had been exchanged for jeans and a t-shirt. Pausing in the corridor to check something on the mobile gave Malfoy the chance to really look Granger up and down.

As he'd suspected, her legs were miles long, the jeans clinging to them. Her back was slender, broadening slightly at the sloping shoulders. Turning slightly, Granger gave Malfoy the complete view of her profile. She was slim, with a flat tummy, high, rounded breasts and flared hips. She was a perfect hourglass shape. In fact, her entire figure was perfect, down to every last proportion. After weeks of only Selena Mowbray's bony body, Malfoy found himself wondering what Granger would be like to screw.

No. He shook the image out of his head, and concentrated on his cigarette as Granger, having finished checking her mobile, headed in his direction.

Although he was masked by the shadows, Malfoy held his breath. However, Granger simply walked by him, still singing quietly, leaving a trail of light perfume behind her.

"Drakie-poo! Where are you? I've looked everywhere for you!"

"Hell in a hand-basket," muttered Malfoy, and went quickly – very quickly – back to Slytherin.

* * *

"We leave you for a minute – just one minute! And you end up teaching Muggle Studies to a complete fuckwit with no morals!" Ron yelled, pacing the Gryffindor Common Room, "What is _wrong_ with you? He'll hex you as soon as look at you, he'll rape you and leave you in a classroom somewhere, he'll –" 

"You're turning purple," commented Hermione, raising her eyebrows at him from where she sat in her chair.

"Don't change the subject!" snapped Ron. "Harry! Back me up here! This is a stupid idea, and she shouldn't be getting into it. That's final!"

He looked at Harry, expectantly.

"Just be careful, 'Mione," yawned Harry, getting up from his chair and stretching. "If the lecture's over, would you mind? I've got to go and find Ginny."

Ron simply stared at him, aghast. Harry nodded.

"Good." And he walked out.

Ron mouthed wordlessly, occasionally emitting squeaky noises of outrage.

"Close your mouth, Ronald, you look like a dying fish," said Hermione, coolly. "If the little chat's over, can I go?"

"Did you _see_ that?" gasped Ron, hoarsely. "He just – with you and Malfoy, and he just –"

"I know what 'he just', Ron," sighed Hermione. "Go on, you've got homework to do."

Privately, Hermione was also a little disappointed with Harry's reaction to her plan. She'd expected him to be at least a little worried, or even angry with her. She'd noticed before, however, that now Harry had Ginny to take care of, he simply didn't have the time (or energy) to watch out for Hermione. It made her feel a little lonely at times. Ron was all very well, and he was one of her best friends, but as they hardly ever agreed on any subject, their relationship wasn't going to be the most restful of things. Slamming her book shut, angry for no apparent reason, she stormed out of the empty room and up into her dorm, crashing the door behind her.

"Christ. What's up with you?" Parvati Patil's eyes, heavily mascara'd, peered at her from behind the hangings of her bed.

"Nothing. Not one God-blessed thing," Hermione bit off, throwing her books onto her bedside table.

"Really?" Parvati waggled her brows. "Seems like you and Ron were having a little tiff. Everything all right on Cloud Nine?"  
"What?"

"You and Ron. Lovers' tiff?"

"Please," snorted Hermione. "No way. Anyway, he's head over heels for Lavender."

"Wouldn't be so sure," Parvati lowered her voice, conspiratorially. "Apparently, he's been fucking Hannah Abbott in Greenhouse 4 for a month or so."

Unreasonably, Hermione's anger boiled over.

"That's so fucking rude!" she screamed. "You shouldn't gossip about people – you're lying! Ron would never do that!"

"Keep with the breathing, Hermione," said the other girl, disgusted, and retreated behind her hangings.

"Oh, _why_ can't have my own room?" wailed Hermione, falling onto her bed.

"Well, keep working like a house-elf and you'll get Head Girl, and _then_ you can have your own room," came Parvati's bored voice from the opposite bed, "and don't take your PMS out on me."

There was silence for a moment. Then Hermione tilted her head to one side, and enquired, innocently, as Parvati knew she would:

"So… what was that about Ron and Hannah in the greenhouse?"

Parvati's head popped round the hangings, grinning.

"Well, you didn't hear this from me, but _I_ got it from Padma, who got it from Christine – she's another Ravenclaw – who got it from Beth-May…"

* * *

Later that night, all Hermione's anxiety returned as she sat in Charms 7, agitatedly tapping her fingers against the tables. 8:00… 8:01… 8:03 … 8:05… 8:10… 

He was late.

He'd better hurry up, thought Hermione, grimly. She had prefect duty to do, and was not in the mood for bullshit.

It was 8:20 before Malfoy arrived, sauntering in with a ripped shirt (how odd), smelling of sex, a girl's perfume, and aftershave. The concoction made Hermione sneeze, eyes watering. Looking up, she choked at him, furious.

"Where – where the – _hell_ have you – been?" She rasped, coughing.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't know you were authorised to know my business, Granger," he sneered. "And stop coughing. I don't want your Mudblood germs."

Defiantly swallowing a final gasp, Hermione glared at him.

"Shut up, Malfoy. Listen, why on Earth are you so late? Surely it can't take _that_ long to get from Slytherin to Charms?"

"Like I said, it's none of your business."

"If you're wasting my time, it's my business."

"_I _dictate the lesson times, Granger. That's what we agreed on."

"We didn't agree on anything! Listen, Malfoy, I've got a pretty good idea of what you've been up to –" Hermione contemptuously indicated his button-less shirt, "- and I doubt that McGonagall would be overly pleased to hear about that – and the fact that you're wasting my time."

Folding her arms, she waited. Malfoy went completely still. Turning slowly, he stared at her.

"Are you threatening me?" he whispered.

Suddenly, Malfoy lunged at her, and Hermione was slammed against the opposite wall, her head cracking painfully against the stone. Malfoy had pinned her with his weight, and her feet dangled slightly off the ground. Now frightened, she started to shake.

"Don't ever – _ever_ – threaten me, Granger," he said, softly, into her ear. "You might just not like the consequences."

He moved away as quickly as before, and Hermione fell down onto the hard stone with a thud. Rubbing her abused backside, she stood up, trembling, holding onto the wall for support. Malfoy stood with his back to her, absent-mindedly running a hand through his hair. Hermione, still shaking, silently dropped into a chair. Malfoy turned around.

"Well?" He arched an eyebrow. "What's happening? What're we going to do tonight?"

Forcing her voice to behave, Hermione cleared her throat.

"I thought we might start with the way a torch works, and then move on to Media. Ok? I made a sheet for you."

Picking up the sheet, she stretched across the table to give it to him.

Granger's hand shook violently as she thrust the sheet towards him. Malfoy scowled, and took it from her. She instantly made to snatch her hand back, but lightning-fast, he caught her wrist, and looked into her face.

"Stop shaking, Granger," he murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you this time."

Releasing her hand, he leant back in his chair, and stared at her, speculatively.

"Besides," he added, with a small smile. "Who's going to help me pass Muggle Studies if I kill you?"

Granger gulped, but bravely met his eyes.

"I'm not scared of you, Malfoy," she muttered, her voice a bare thread of sound. Malfoy raised both brows, then smiled, and leaned forward in his chair.

"Yeah, you are," he said, quietly. "You just won't admit it."

Granger gave an exasperated gasp.

"I'm _not_ scared of you! I don't even _like_ you! I'm not even your _friend!_ And I'm not going to be one of those – those _girls_ that hang around you, either!"

Malfoy sat up sharply, eyes gleaming.

"Ahh," he breathed. "It's come to _that_, has it?"

Angry, frightened, humiliated, Hermione slid off her chair and walked to the window. Her feelings were completely unbalanced, but one was definite. Fury had certainly overcome fear, and all her opinions of Malfoy came spilling out.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!" she snapped, unable to look at him, or lose courage. "They crowd around you like – like flies! And not just the Slytherin girls! I _know_ about you and that Hufflepuff girl!"

From behind her, she heard Malfoy yawn.

"Do you?" he replied, lazily. Getting up, he wandered around the table to stand a couple of paces behind her. "And what would be the point of this touching little diatribe?"

"_I'm not going to be one of those girls!_"

The words exploded out of Hermione before she had a chance to think. Blushing furiously, she stuffed her fist into her mouth to prevent any more foot-in-mouth situations.

Malfoy blinked, and stared. She kept surprising him. Recovering his composure, he grinned.

"Rest assured, Granger, I think I can cope without you being 'one of those girls'. Now, before you manage to embarrass yourself further, come and teach me what Media means, hmm?"

Granger sighed, and plopped back in her seat again.

"Where was I? Right… Muggle Media covers newspapers, radio, and television…"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Wednesdays, thought Hermione, gloomily, moving towards the Charm Classrooms. Could there be a worse day? First, she had Charms with Professor Flitwick's pathetic sidekick, who took ten minutes to explain a simple wand movement. Arithmancy followed, which she couldn't sleep through, unlike Charms, and required a lethal amount of concentration for early in the morning. After a short break, Ancient Runes, usually topped off with a nice load of homework which would fill up her free lessons and her evenings quite nicely. Ancient Runes lasted two hours before Muggle Studies, then a couple of hours prefect patrol.

And to add insult to injury, evenings spent in the company of Draco Malfoy.

Arriving in Charms Classroom 7, Hermione looked around, and snorted. Of course he wouldn't be there. Settling herself down in her chair, she drew one of her few trashy books out of her bag, she had barely read the first line when a faint snore drew her attention.

Hastily, she closed the book and tucked it into her bag. Looking up, her mouth fell open.

Tucked into a little corner of the room was Draco Malfoy, sleeping like a baby.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who's saddled down with too much work," she said, and started to giggle. "I like you like this, Malfoy."

Walking over to the blond boy snoring lightly, her giggles grew.

"Yeah, I definitely like you better like this. You can't intimidate me, scare me or make me feel stupid. Stay asleep as long as you want. Don't mind me."

Wandering back to her seat, Hermione drew out her Ancient Runes homework, and tackled the problems, occasionally throwing a question at the unconscious Malfoy – "I'm not sure if that Rune's Algiz or Fehu. What do you reckon? Hmm, Fehu, then, if you insist" – and humming snippets of Muggle and Wizarding music as she worked.

Slowly, Hermione stopped worrying about Malfoy waking up, and concentrated fully on her work, still asking Malfoy's opinion on difficult questions. She was at the bottom of the page, and confronted with a particularly nasty question. Frowning at it, she called out:

"Hey, I've got a real bugger here. What do you think? It could be Berkanan or Sówilo, or maybe Burisaz if I use it in that context. What do you think, Malfoy?"

"Burisaz," said a quiet voice in her ear. Hermione squeaked, and turned round to see Malfoy leaning against the wall behind her, arms crossed over his muscled chest, smiling crookedly at her. "It's Burisaz. Couldn't be Berkanan because Berkanan in that context changes the meaning."

"How did you – how - what?" spluttered Hermione.

"I move quietly," shrugged Malfoy. "Besides, I didn't want to disturb you; you seemed so absorbed. Tell me, do you always talk to half-dead people when you work?"

Hermione smiled in spite of herself.

"You don't look half dead to me."

"Could have fooled me. I _feel_ fucking half dead. McGonagall never lets up, does she?"

Malfoy looked down his nose at Hermione, and folded his hands primly in his lap.

"Miss Granger," he mimicked, perfectly, "kindly keep your mind concentrated on the lesson. If you allow yourself to be distracted for 2 seconds, you may not get the billion NEWTs we've promised the governors, which will hoist us higher in the League Tables."  
Hermione couldn't help it; she giggled, then tried to frown at Malfoy, who was grinning back.

"You shouldn't talk about our superiors that way, Malfoy," she said, attempting to keep a straight face.

Malfoy looked at her wickedly through narrowed eyes.

"Admit it, Granger, you _do _find it funny."

Hermione gave up, threw her head back and laughed. Malfoy pretended to stagger back in shock.  
"What?! The great Granger laughing? What's happened? Who died?"

Still laughing, Hermione pushed him towards his chair, and placed the objects up for discussion on the desk in front of him.

* * *

Still giggling quietly to herself, Hermione skipped up the stairs to Gryffindor. Reaching the Common Room, she flopped into a squishy chair.

Tonight, however much she hated to admit it, had been fun. Something had relaxed in Malfoy. He no longer saw her as a threat, or something psychological like that. He'd missed the cruel comments, and had treated her more or less like something human. Hermione felt absurdly happy.

And _God_ he was so gorgeous. Even more gorgeous when he was grinning. She hoped he hadn't noticed her staring at him.

Now I'll have to tell Ron that teaching Malfoy _was_ a good idea, she thought, gleefully, running up the stairs into the boys' dorms. The three of them usually met at this time to chat about the day, and what had been going on. Throwing open the door to Ron and Harry's dorm, she peered through the hangings of the beds and found them empty.

"They're not here," said a tired voice. Neville appeared from round the edge of the bed. Seeing who it was, his face cracked open in a grin.

"Hey, Hermione! How's it going?"  
"Fine, actually, thanks. Do you know where they are, Neville?"  
Neville screwed up his eyes in an effort to remember.

"Uh… Harry's with Ginny, I think, and… Ron… Ron's with Lavender."

"Or Hannah," added Hermione, snidely. She could feel the happiness deflating like a balloon. Neville glanced at her.

"You heard, too?" he asked, carefully.

"Yeah," Hermione said, rubbing her eyes. "Listen, Neville, I've got to go – lots of work…"

"Ok," sighed Neville, nodding towards his own bed, on top of which was a stack of books. "Me too. If I see Harry or Ron, I'll tell them you came in."

"Thanks," whispered Hermione, and walked sadly down the stairs, and back into the Common Room. Interrupting Crookshanks from his hunting, she picked the cat up and cuddled him to her.

"I may as well not have any friends with all the time they spend with me. Seems to me," she said, slowly, "the only time I see them is when their girlfriends aren't around, or if they want their homework done."

Sighing, she buried her face in Crookshanks' fur, and crept up to her own dorm.

* * *

In his own room in Slytherin, Malfoy was thinking hard. Something was different. For one thing, he was in his room on time, and not shagging some girl in an abandoned classroom, nor in the Common Room with his fanclub.

No….he, Draco Malfoy was in his room. Thinking.

God help him.

One thing was certain. Granger was getting to him, and that was dangerous. She shouldn't get to him, and it scared him that she did. He was even slightly worried about her: she was spending less and less time with Potter and Weasley, and was verging on the thin instead of slender. There were black rings underneath her eyes, which merely attracted his gaze to her eyes instead. They were a deep velvety brown, with tiny flecks of green in them –

What the hell?

Something was definitely wrong. Time to find one of his fanclub.

* * *

Malfoy walked down the corridor towards the Charms Wing, thinking hard.

He thought uneasily about how much he had started to look forward to Wednesday nights, and the prospect of seeing Granger, making her blush, making her laugh, shocked with his opinions and impressions of the teachers.

It was a new feeling, and Malfoy didn't like new things. Especially feelings about Granger that even he wasn't sure of, which had to be carefully concealed behind a mask of indifference.

It made him feel uncomfortable.

What I need is a good screw, he decided to himself, and wondered whether he could be bothered to search out a member of his fangirl club.

Suddenly, an arm shot out, and dragged him into the nearby classroom. Looking at his interceptor, he found himself face to face with a large, burly Ravenclaw, whom he vaguely recognised from somewhere.

"If you don't mind," he said, politely, and neatly sidestepped the obstacle, only stopped by a brawny arm shooting out and catching his chest. Sighing, he turned round.

"Listen, I don't know what the hell you want, but you'd better not keep me waiting," he said, running his fingers through his hair.

The Ravenclaw spoke. "Is that him?" He asked in a gravelly voice.

Malfoy wondered whether the man was a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic, until another, female voice answered:

"Yeah, that's him."

A tall Ravenclaw girl moved from the shadows, and Malfoy cursed inside his head. Of course. One of his discarded conquests from a couple of months back, wooed with the traditional clichés of everlasting love. At the moment, the look directed at him was less than loving. In fact, it was pure spite.

Taking out her wand, the girl hissed a few words, and Malfoy felt his hands spring and lock together, and then his feet. Then he was dragged into the air by some invisible force, unable to move. Malfoy watched the girl, silently. The other man snarled, and cracked his knuckles.

"This is what you get for breaking my baby sister's heart!"

The next second, his fist the size of a small ham had slammed across Malfoy's face. Slowly licking his bleeding lip, Malfoy's eyes glittered.

"Hitting a man tied up," he commented softly. "How brave. And I thought Ravenclaw was supposed to be about chivalry."

The fist crashed round from the other side.

"You say heart," went on Malfoy, shaking his head to get rid of the stars. "I wasn't aware your sister had a heart. On the upside, she wasn't a virgin when she met me, so I can't be blamed for that."

The Ravenclaw turned round to stare at his sister, who blanched.

"He's lying!" She shrieked, hastily. "Hit him again."

Mercifully, no-one saw him when he emerged from the classroom, grabbing hold of the torch-bracket nearby to keep himself from falling. Resting his head against the cool stone, and flexing his wrists to get the blood-flow back into them, he breathed.

Then, checking the time, he swore, and staggered down the corridor to Charms 7.

* * *

Hermione stared morosely at the clock. He was late again. Curiously she didn't feel angry any more. Just – disappointed. Why? She argued. He's never been nice to you. Not until now. And he only treats you halfway decently in this classroom. Why are you disappointed that he hasn't turned up? There must be a good reason, she thought, determinedly rational.

"Granger," someone croaked. She leapt up, and backed to the wall. The classroom was empty, and she was terrified.

"Granger, I'm over here."

"Whoever you are, show yourself!" Hermione cried, her voice sounding braver than she was. There was silence for a minute, then a soft curse.

The air blurred, and Malfoy appeared.

"Invisibility spell," he croaked, grinning at the shocked look on her face. "Forgot to tell you. Sorry."  
"What's wrong with your voice," Hermione asked, puzzled.

Malfoy thought. It was dark. Perhaps she wouldn't notice.

"Nothing," he answered. "Listen – you couldn't give me a hand up, could you? My legs are dead."

She held out her hand, and he took it, using her weight to haul himself to his feet. Hermione's eyes grew wide in her face as she looked at him, and she stifled a cry of horror under her hand. Malfoy turned away from her, humiliated.

"Who did this?" she asked, quietly.

Malfoy attempted to give her his carefree grin, but winced as his split lip throbbed.

"Old pure-blood family got their own back on me for shagging their girl. I wasn't the first, though. It's not as bad as it looks," he reassured her, seeing her eyes were like saucers, and her hands still clamped over her mouth.

"Look," Hermione squeaked. "I can heal some of the worse ones, if you want –"

"No!" Malfoy snapped. "I don't want anything, understand? Let's just get to work."

Hermione nodded, silently, and walked over to the table.

"You've just about covered Everyday Appliances," she told him, checking her sheet. "So I drew up a test paper for you. Here you go. It should take you half an hour or so."

He smiled, humourlessly, and took the paper from her.

"And if I do well, will you tell me I've been a good boy and let me go half an hour early?" he asked, snidely.

Hermione ignored him, and returned to her Arithmency homework.

The minutes passed. Malfoy tried to concentrate on his paper, but his head pounded, and his battered face ached. He tried not to notice the drops of blood from the gash above his eyebrow falling on the table and the paper, and ignored his screaming wrists and ankles.

Hermione couldn't. Hands shaking, she noticed his eyes beginning to close, the bracelets of bruises forming around his wrists, his broken nose still bleeding slightly, and the numerous bruises covering his face.

Eyes closing… he shouldn't be falling asleep, he had concussion! Unable to take it, she got off her seat, and came to stand next to him.

"I don't care if you want to be seen as some tough guy who doesn't care how many times he gets beat," she hissed. He looked up at her, startled. He'd never seen her so angry before. "And if you _want_ to faint on the way back to Slytherin from blood-loss and concussion, fine by me. If you don't, _please_ let me put you out of your misery!"

Amazed, Malfoy nodded. Hermione relaxed, relieved.

"Thank you."

Placing a warm finger under his chin and bringing his head up, she surveyed the damage. Broken nose, nasty cut on forehead, numerous bruises – a deep one on his cheekbone, split lip, and possibly some bruises to the skull. The person who'd done this had been some sort of professional, she thought, grimly.

"Ok," she said, her voice gentle. "I'm going to heal your nose, now. This'll hurt a bit."

Malfoy grit his teeth as the area around his nose ached sharply. The bones moved, cartilage grated, then the bleeding stopped abruptly, along with the insistent pain. Disbelieving, Malfoy lifted his hand to his nose.

"Not even a bump," said Hermione, proudly. "You're lucky. You heal up nicely."

"How do you know all this?" muttered Malfoy, softly.

"Please," Hermione snorted. "I live in close proximity to the great Harry Potter. You kind of _have_ to learn some basic healing when he's around."

Malfoy hadn't missed the bitterness in her voice, but kept that to himself. Working quietly, humming to herself, Hermione sorted out the bruises, and the split lip, looking at him doubtfully when she reached the gash on his forehead.

"This will leave a scar," she explained, reddening. "I'm sorry, but I can't stop that."

Malfoy grinned. "I don't care."

"Ah, well. I suppose a scar will make you look dashing," admitted Hermione, absently. Malfoy chuckled and tugged on her hair. "You don't think I look dashing already?"

Hermione blushed furiously. "Well – I – ah –"

He laughed. "Don't, please. You'll just get yourself into a bigger tangle. And 'dashing'? My, my, someone needs a new dictionary."

Hermione grinned and continued to heal him, frowning when she dropped to her knees and saw his wrists.

"What are those from?" she asked, indicating the bracelets of bruises. Malfoy yawned.

"They tied me up with cords of magic. Like rope," he explained, "only stronger. Won't break."

Hermione felt the comforting fizz of anger round her eyes. "But that's barbaric! They tie you up, and then beat you? That's cruel."

To her astonishment, she realised she was crying. Malfoy's eyes widened and he edged his chair away, uncomfortable.

"It's nothing, Granger. Really. You've seen the worst. Those were just minor bonus points. Why are you crying for _me_, anyway?"

Hermione sniffled.

"Not for you," she mumbled, fumbling with her wand and healing his wrists. "Just makes me angry, that's all. We're meant to be chivalrous in this school."

"I know, but come on! I'm hardly the poster child for chivalry, am I?" Malfoy sighed, and ran his hands though his hair. He watched Granger, on her knees in front of him, through lowered lashes, and grinned ironically. Now wasn't this a compromising position? He would have loved to see the look on Potter's face if he came in now…

The smirk swiftly changed to a wince as Granger located a new source of pain, and Malfoy yelped.

"Cracked rib," said Granger, promptly, "Won't take a minute."

Malfoy felt a cool sensation slide into his chest, breathed, and then started to laugh.

"What?" asked the girl at his feet.

"Nothing," he gasped, "absolutely nothing – just, doesn't it occur to you that this is strange? I'm a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor. It's virtually in my job description to treat you badly. And yet here you are, putting paid to my wounds."

Granger's lips tightened and she got to her feet, kicking a delicate part of his anatomy as she did so. He winced.

"I just don't like seeing people in pain, that's all," she said, shortly. "Don't read too much into it."  
Malfoy simply yawned. "Shame. For a couple of minutes I thought I meant something to you. Obviously, you keep your choicest remedies for the healing of The Great Potter."

Granger clicked her tongue, spitting with irritation.

"Well, at least _he_ doesn't think with the brain between his legs," she muttered, switching into Russian.

"I haven't spent my life with my fingers in my ears," drawled Malfoy from behind her, in the same language.

As Granger turned round, amazed, he shrugged.

"Where do you think this colouring comes from?"

Granger scowled at him, and gave back a few choice expressions in Spanish. Malfoy frowned.

"Don't understand that," he said, sullenly.

Granger smiled sweetly at him.

"At least when I want to insult you, I can always do it in Spanish."  
"You do that. How do you know Russian, Granger?" He asked, squinting at her. "You don't look like a Russian to me."

"My parents are dentists – Muggle tooth healers," she replied. "Dad got a job out there when I was about seven. We lived there for three years, so I _should_ speak the language. I don't see you doing that test paper," she added, looking pointedly at the table.

Malfoy waved his hand, dismissing the work.

"Give it to me as homework."

Granger turned round, her mouth falling open. She stared at Malfoy, soundlessly, until he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"What?" He asked, impatiently.

"You," she remarked, slowly. "Want me to give you _homework_? _You_?"

"And?"  
"Don't you remember?" Granger said, smiling crookedly. "According to you, you'd hex me into next week if I even _tried_ to give you homework."

"I've mellowed," he told her with a yawn. "And anyway, I can't do any more work tonight. My battered brain is not up to it. So if you give it to me as homework, I can do it when I don't feel so dead. Making sense, now?"

"Well…" Granger thought a second, and then said, almost shyly: "I won't give you a deadline, then. Just get it to me when you can. You learn fast anyway."

Malfoy gave her a rare, sweet smile, which gave her a funny feeling in her stomach.

"Thanks, Granger," he said, quietly. "I've actually learnt more with you in a month than I have with our so-called teacher in half a year."

The funny feeling in Hermione's stomach intensified, and she hastily tried to dispel it.

"Well," she started, briskly. "We've got half an hour left. We can start again if you want?"

Malfoy looked at her lazily from half-closed azure eyes.

"No point. And I can't be bothered to walk all the way back to Slytherin just now. How about we talk a little?"

Hermione felt apprehensive, and the emotion must have shown on her face, because Malfoy quirked his head at her, and said, reasonably:

"I won't bite, you know. I have been house-trained."

Hermione hesitantly pulled up a chair opposite him.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" She asked, uneasily.

"Dunno. Anything you want."

"Ok…" Hermione searched for a safe subject. "What's your family like?"

Malfoy's face shuttered, and Hermione tensed, but Malfoy sighed, and rubbed his head, pensively.

"My family like to safeguard their reputation as one of the most evil families on the planet."

Seeing Hermione about to contradict him, he shook his head.

"Please, Granger. You've met my father. He's a fucker, through and through. I don't have any siblings, because Dad didn't want the fuss of having to divide his vast inheritance in equal parts. He brought me up as a little clone of him. As you can imagine, I didn't have many friends when I was little."

"What about your mother?" Hermione fought the sympathetic tears welling up again.

"Mother couldn't give a damn. She made a new friend soon after I was born – Jack Daniels. I'm talking about the whisky, Granger," he grinned slightly at the puzzled look on Hermione's face. "And who could blame her," he added, bitterly. "My parents prove that marriage is not just a convenience, but a business contract.

"You've no idea how fucking _lonely_ it is in that house, Granger. Or, as my father calls it, _our mansion_," Malfoy mimicked, viciously. "I wasn't allowed any Unsuitable friends to stay, which was basically the entire neighbourhood – all Mudbloods or blood-traitors, you see, so word quickly got around that I was posh little snob like my father. Gradually, people stopped asking me to tea…

"What did you get for your fourteenth birthday, Granger?" He asked her, suddenly. Without waiting for her to answer, her continued, rage and contempt in every syllable, he continued. "For _my _fourteenth birthday, my father brought his _mistress_ in, and told me, as a _special treat_ I could fuck her. Don't forget, you can't return birthday presents," he smiled without humour. "Make no mistake, Granger. I've been raised in a family of blood-suckers, and I'm one of them."

Staring at her as though he was seeing her for the first time, Malfoy shook his head, slowly.

"You're too damned easy to talk to, Granger," he muttered. "You just sit there, looking at me with those big brown eyes, and watch as words drop off my tongue."

Standing up, he gripped her shoulder as he walked past to her to get to the door. There he paused, and said, softly:

"I'd be grateful if you didn't tell anyone about this." His eyes narrowed. "And if I hear anything, I'll know it was you."

He left, and Hermione sat in her chair and for the first time since Malfoy had started talking, let herself go, and cried.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Hermione skipped into the dining hall, the balloon of happiness almost bursting inside her. Her eyes searched out Ron and Harry at the Gryffindor table. Unsurprisingly, Harry was attached to Ginny, and Lavender was clinging to Ron like a scented limpet. The balloon of happiness deflated slightly.

Sliding into a seat opposite them, she raised her eyebrows. Nothing, no remarks came from the couples. She cleared her throat, and still received no answer. Repeating the gesture, a bit louder, there was still no sign that either of her friends recognised her presence. Giving up, softly, she said:

"Hey!"

Harry looked at her dazedly, and then turned back to a giggling Ginny. Ron stared at her, as if trying to remember who she was. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear his head.

"Sorry, Hermione. Did you want something?" He asked, politely.

The corners of Hermione's mouth turned down, and she got up from the table, and pushed her chair in. The breathtaking happiness she'd felt had now melted away, leaving her with a cold, forlorn emptiness.

"No…" she replied, slowly. "Nothing. It's all right."

Ron nodded, and reached for Lavender. Hermione turned, and walked numbly back to Gryffindor.

* * *

Malfoy sat in Charms 7, watching the clock. This was unusual. Granger was ten minutes late: She of the Extreme Punctuality was late! He'd enjoy reminding her of it when she arrived.

However, when, another ten minutes later, she still hadn't come in, Malfoy got annoyed. She was wasting his time, he thought, irritated; conveniently forgetting that he wasn't the most punctual of people. He heard a rustle out in the corridor, and sat up straight, scowling. Granger shuffled in, looking worse than he felt.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, sharply. Granger stared at him, listlessly. She seemed to pull herself together, and sat down opposite him.

"Ok," she said, in her usual brisk way. "Since you've finished Module One – Everyday Appliances, I'll start you on Module 2 – National Uses of Electricity. I don't know how much you know, so – guess what? I'll give you a short test paper just to see what you have trouble with."  
Malfoy grinned at her proudly, as he produced his homework and waved it at her. Granger smiled back, and took it, looking over it slowly.

"Looks good so far. I'll take a look at it whilst you're doing this."

She produced her own paper, and waved it, before handing to him. Malfoy set to work, muttering crossly to himself when he came to face with a problem he'd never heard of before. Gradually, a sound brought him out of his concentration. It was a faint sniffing noise that sounded as if it came from a distance. Frowning, Malfoy looked towards the door.

"Hey, Granger, can you hear –?"

He broke off, and turned round, incredulously, as he realised the source of the sound. Granger was sitting down, her head in her hands, her body shaking from the force of her silent sobs. Tears fell onto his carefully done homework. Worried – Granger, crying? – Malfoy leaned across the table.

"Hey, Granger, you're getting my paper wet," he joked, concerned.

Granger showed no signs of letting up, so he tried again.

"Listen, Granger, what's up? Knowing you, it'll be work. It's not surprising; you do at least twenty more subjects than I do. All you have to do is go to McGonagall and say you can't cope. I bet she'll be expecting it."

Granger shook her head, gulping down her tears.

"It's nothing."

"Ok," he said, still troubled, but bent his head back to his work.

After a while the sobs started up again, but quieter, as Granger tried to suppress them. Malfoy made no comment, but raised his head and fixed his blue eyes on her forehead. Reaching inside her mind, he was met with a block of resistance.

"Stop that, it tickles," mumbled Granger, wiping her eyes.

Malfoy returned to his work, trying to ignore the muffled sniffling across the table. He gave up as Granger suddenly dropped her head onto the table and gave in to her tears. Malfoy sighed, hiding how anxious he was, and walked round the table to crouch in front of her chair.

"Granger, remember the last time we had a conversation like this? You told me that if I wanted to be tough and pretend nothing was wrong, then that was fine, but if I thought you could do something about it, I should tell you. Now, put yourself out of your misery, and spill."

"Do you know what day it is, Malfoy?" Granger raised a tearstained face from her hands. Her voice shook as she fought to keep it in control. Malfoy glanced at the calendar on the wall.

"Wednesday the 26th. Why?"

Granger laughed tearfully. "It's my _birthday_, Malfoy. My _birthday_!"

"You should know, Granger, people don't usually cry on their birthdays," Malfoy told her, gently. "The general custom is to be happy, and to eat lots of cake."

"I _was_ happy," wailed Granger, desperately. "I _was_, until – until n-no-one remembered that it _was_ my birthday. No-one at all."

Malfoy stared at her, sympathy threatening to overwhelm him.

"Surely your parents remembered? Even _my_ father remembered to give me a fourteenth birthday present." He grinned at her, but his grin faded when she shook her head.

"My parents are in Tobago. They won't be back for another fortnight."

"Well," Malfoy searched around for an alternative. "What about Saint Potter the Perfect? He must've remembered, he practically has a halo. And Weasley, come on, he wouldn't forget –"

"You don't understand!" cried Hermione, then forced herself to calm down. "You see – Ron's been spending a lot of time with Lavender recently, and Harry – Harry doesn't even acknowledge my existence. He's wrapped around _Ginny_ all the time – he _doesn't care_! And I – I'm…"

Her words dissolved in another flood of tears, and whispered the last words so quietly that Malfoy had to strain his ears to catch them:

"I'm so lonely."

Malfoy couldn't remember feeling that angry in quite a while. The bastards! He was no saint, but at least he remembered his friends' birthdays, and they remembered his. Although this was not the first time he had dreamed of hurting Potter seriously in some way, now he wanted to finish the job off properly. He shook his head, tiredly. Granger would never forgive him if he killed the tosser. Looking at the girl curled up in her chair, Malfoy grit his teeth as another wave of anger washed over him. Then an idea came to him.

"Come on, Granger," he barked, "You and I are going out!"

Hermione blinked the last of the tears out of her eyes and stared at Malfoy. He looked breathlessly good-looking, and extremely angry, and why he should be angry, Hermione had no idea. His eyes were black slits in a usually impassive face, and his voice was brisk.

"Well?" he snapped, seeing her pause and reading it as apprehension. "Coming or not?"

He held out his hand to her. Looking at it, uncertainly, Hermione scowled abruptly, and put her hand in his. He pulled her up with apparent ease, and took her shoulders to steady her. Suddenly he was very close, and Hermione caught her breath. As quickly as it had come, the moment passed, and Hermione breathed out, shakily.

"So where are we going?" she asked, timidly.

Malfoy looked at her sideways, and treated her to one of his more enigmatic smiles.

"I'm going to call in a few favours. Wash your face, dry your eyes, and meet me downstairs in about three minutes, Ok?"

Hermione nodded, and watched as Malfoy slid into the shadows and disappeared. Taking out her wand, she waved it and mumbled a few words. The tearstains on her face vanished, along with the puffy eyes and red blotchy look she always suffered when she cried. _After all_, she thought, ironically, _that's why I don't cry much_. Producing a tiny pocket mirror, she rummaged in her bag for her eyeliner. Finding it, she drew a thin black line underneath both eyes. Looking at herself in the mirror, she reflected, darkly, that she wasn't Fleur Delacour, but she'd do.

* * *

Malfoy ran down the corridor and skidded round a corner, almost falling over. He'd managed to threaten and cajole a couple of people into doing what he wanted for the evening. That was one advantage of being his father's son, he thought, grimly. He slid to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, and stared. Granger came slowly down the stairs, smiling shyly at him. Although she only wore jeans and an old cashmere jumper, the jeans emphasised the slimness of her long legs, and the cashmere clung to her breasts and flat stomach. The holes in the cashmere at her elbows, and her huge dark eyes made her look unbearably vulnerable, and, not for the first time, Malfoy felt an odd mixture of lust and affection in his stomach. He quelled that feeling quickly – _'she's the little sister I never had'_, he told himself, firmly.

Raising an eyebrow at her, he jerked his head towards the door.

"Ready to go?"

She nodded, and then looked doubtfully at the fast locked doors.

"How are we going to get out?"

Malfoy grinned, and produced his broom from behind his back.

"Chariot for the birthday girl," he smirked.

Hermione gulped.

"I'm – not a real fan of flying," she stuttered, apologetically. "Harry once took me flying on Buckbeak, and I nearly fell off once or twice."

"Since when has a hippogriff classed as decent flying?" asked Malfoy, dryly. "You haven't been on a good broom, that's all. You won't drop," he assured her, tugging her towards the window.

He placed her on the front of the broom, then settled himself behind her.

"Ready?" He asked, lightly.

The girl gulped, and gripped the broom until her knuckles went white. Malfoy grinned, and kicked off from the ground. The broom, always sensitive to its master's wishes, rose gently, and glided out of the window. The ground fell away beneath them, and Hogwarts' beauty was revealed in silvery moonlight. Hermione gasped, forgetting her fear, and stared around in wonder. They continued to sail over Hogwarts' grounds for another five minutes or so, until Malfoy leant forward and said in her ear:

"I know you're enjoying the view, but if we keep going at this speed, we'll reach our destination for your _next_ birthday. We're going to have to go a bit faster."

Hermione swallowed, but nodded as bravely as he could. Malfoy tapped the broom with his long fingers, and it obligingly sped up, accelerating gradually. Hermione renewed her death-grip on the broom, and screwed her eyes shut. Automatically, almost lazily, Malfoy put an arm around her waist, reassuring her.

"You won't fall off."

The rest of the journey was a literal blur. The giddiness and fear combined with the feel of Malfoy's arm encircling her waist made Hermione feel completely light-headed. She kept her eyes shut, feeling the rushing wind blowing her hair around. God, she was going to be a mess! She hoped they weren't going anywhere too posh, then grinned ironically. Talk about being presumptuous!

The good thing about having a birthday in summer, Hermione reflected, dreamily, was that it was still warm even though it was getting dark. She shut her eyes and let the broom take her wherever it wanted to go. She wasn't sure how long she spent daydreaming a series of very muddled dreams, but she snapped back to reality and shivered at Malfoy's lips brushing her ear:

"We'll be landing in a moment, ok? Just get ready."

Slowly but surely, she felt the broom tilt downwards. She squeaked in alarm, and clung to the broom with all her might. She heard Malfoy chuckle, and, arm still around her waist, haul her against him to keep the balance. With a sudden shock she felt his body behind her, and gulped. Wow. Quidditch really had paid off: she could feel the lean muscle through his shirt. The contact made her think some extremely inappropriate things, and with a nervous giggle, Hermione edged away from Malfoy, grateful he couldn't see her blush.

They landed as gracefully as they had taken off. Hermione clumsily clambered off the broom, and gave it a grateful look:

"Thanks, broomstick."

"And you didn't even fall off!" grinned Malfoy, going past her.

It was only when she saw where they were going that Hermione took in her own appearance. The restaurant was built of white marble, which glittered in the moonlight. Soft lights shone from the windows, and a pair of haughty-looking waiters guarded the entrance jealously. Hermione's hair was a bird's nest, her old jumper was faded, and her jeans had seen better days. Timidly, she touched Malfoy's arm. He looked at her, enquiringly. She glanced, nervously towards the building in front of her.

"Am I done up enough?"

Finally, a chance to really look her over without being accused of ogling. Malfoy took advantage of the opportunity, and drew his eyes searchingly over her frame, smiling quietly to himself as he saw her cheeks stain red. He raised his eyebrows at her, and sauntered past, casually tousling a hand through her curls.

"You're fine. Come on, or we'll lose our table."

He strode up to the doors, delicately decorated with filigree gold. The waiters leapt up and scowled at him, fiercely.

"Excuse me, sir," one of the penguins said, icily, "This restaurant is for those with _reservations_ only."

Deliberately keeping his eyes down, Malfoy kept his voice level.

"We've got one. Now, if you don't mind."

He gestured towards Hermione, who hesitantly came forward. The second waiter stuck his nose even higher (if it was possible) in the air.  
"I'm sorry, sir. We may not be able to cater for your… tastes."

He let his eyes stray over Hermione, who went scarlet as his gaze lingered a little too long. _Fucking letch_, thought Malfoy, furiously, and, clearing his throat, said coldly:

"If you'll excuse us?"

Calculatingly, he raised his eyes to those of the waiter. The unfortunate man went pale as he registered the distinctive blue eyes that marked the arrogant young man as a Malfoy, a member of the family that held the restaurant in debt.

"Of – of course, sir. Please, step this way."

"Thank you."

Steering Hermione by the shoulders, Malfoy guided her, calmly, through the doors and into the restaurant. He watched with malicious satisfaction, as a worried conference took place between four waiters, who swiftly approached the pair.

"A table for Sir and the young lady."  
Malfoy followed, trying not to laugh at the look on Hermione's face.

"Close your mouth, Granger; you're going to catch flies."

Sinking down dazedly, Hermione stared around her, at the silver cutlery next to her bone-china plate, at the chandeliered ceiling and the other diners in their dinner-jackets and dresses, who were trying their hardest not to gawp at the two young people: the beautiful young man in a T-shirt and jeans, and the young girl in a worn jumper and jeans ripped at the knees had managed to nick the best table in the restaurant. What was the world coming to?

Hermione took one look at the menu in front of her and gulped.

"I think I'll just have a starter," she muttered, eyes round at the prices.

"Don't be ridiculous!" scowled Malfoy. "It's your birthday; get what you want."

"But you can't possibly have this much money on you _now_!" hissed Hermione in desperation.

"Daddy'll pay," yawned Malfoy, stretching his legs out. "Trust me, there are few advantages to being the son of Super-Bastard, but this is one of them. Everyone knows him, therefore everyone knows me. Just choose something, Granger, or I'll be insulted."

Looking down at his own menu, he picked the dish he usually had when he came with his family to the restaurant. Hermione pondered, before selecting the simplest dishes she could find – asparagus in butter followed by scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. Anxiously, she looked at Malfoy.

"Are you sure that's ok?"

Malfoy sighed. "Granger, you keep worrying about everything, and you'll have wrinkles before you're thirty. You're doing fine."

A waiter approached their table, bowing frantically until Malfoy raised an eyebrow. He took the orders, then, bowing once again to Malfoy (who rolled his eyes) asked what wine Sir and Madam would like. Malfoy looked enquiringly at Hermione, who blushed and fiddled with her fork.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know anything about wine."

Malfoy grinned, and pointed one out to the waiter, who hurried off.

"I think we'll be ok with this one, Granger: I've got hollow legs and you've already proved to me you can hold your liquor."

Hermione smiled. "Hmm, I wouldn't quite say that."

"By the way," Malfoy continued, "I've been curious. What prompted that little drunken trip? I never asked, but it's been bugging me for ages."

Hermione sighed. "Girl meets boy, girl likes boy, boy takes girl on holiday, girl goes back to school, boy dumps girl by Owl."

Malfoy winced.

"Yeah," said Hermione, sheepishly. "I was kind of pissed off that night."

"I _would_ beat him up for you, but Bulgaria is quite far away."

When Hermione looked up at him, startled, he chuckled:

"Come on, Granger. The whole school knew about the Quidditch star dating the Bookworm. I personally think he's an tosser, and to be honest, I think it's better he's out of your life."

Unsure as how to respond, Hermione hurriedly changed the subject.

"When's your birthday?"

Taken aback, Malfoy had to think a bit before answering.

"October. Why?"

"Not the 31st?" smiled Hermione.

Malfoy's mouth twitched.

"No, thankfully. October 6th. _Why_?"

"Well, I was trying to work out what season you were born in," Hermione paused to thank the waiter who placed her starter in front of her. "and you don't look like a summer baby."

Malfoy snorted.

"That's the strangest thing I've ever heard. No, once again the colouring gives it away."

"Not entirely," argued Hermione. "I'd have put you in December and January with your colouring, but I guess autumn is close enough."

"See, I wouldn't have booked you as a June girl. You look more April/May."

"Looks can be deceiving." Hermione delicately took a bite out of her asparagus.

"Apparently. Stop looking at me as though I was a project of yours. I thought we'd established what month I was born in."

"I'm just wondering why you're not having a starter. Want some asparagus?"

Happily, Hermione waved a piece at him. Malfoy's mouth twitched again.

"No, you're going to eat the lot. You need to eat more. It was far too easy to get you back to Gryffindor."

"How _did _you get me back that night?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Carried you," Malfoy replied, absently, running his eyes over the dessert menu.

Hermione choked on a piece of asparagus.

"You _carried_ me back?" She spluttered.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

"How else was I meant to get you back? Drag you by your feet? Anyhow, you were too light. I know quaffles that weigh more than you."

"Thanks," said Hermione, miffed.

"You're welcome."

* * *

They finished their meal, arguing, sniping, laughing and having the first real conversations they'd ever had.

"…How can you get into people's minds?"

"Occlumency? Easy. Just… try and get into my mind, use a bit of force…"

"I can't do it!"

"Good!"

"How is that good?"  
"Well, this is the only thing I can do that you can't. Besides ride a broom. I've beaten the great Hermione Granger at something! My day is complete!"

"Oh, shut up..."

"…Come on, you know everything about my traumatic childhood. Now you tell me about yours."

"But mine's so boring."

"And? I want to hear about it."

"Well, I'm only child, like you. My parents are dentists, and I basically led a perfectly normal middle-class life. Until I got my letter, and came here."

"That must have been weird for your parents."  
"Just a little. They thought someone was playing silly buggers, or some paedophile was trying to get at me. I wasn't allowed out for a week! Then I pestered them so much that they took me to Diagon Alley."

"And that was that."

"Yup…"

* * *

Hermione looked sadly back at the restaurant. Her birthday was nearly over, and it had been the best birthday in ages. Or, at least, the evening had. And now she'd have to go back and pretend nothing had happened. She couldn't exactly explain to Harry and Ron that she'd gone out to supper with Draco Malfoy. As they kicked off from the ground, she felt another funny feeling in her stomach, but it wasn't fear. Looking over her shoulder, she quietly examined Malfoy's face. It was completely expressionless; he was completely absorbed in his flying. Hermione felt a surge of admiration. For someone who'd had an awful childhood, he'd turned out quite well, and not much like his father. He was kind to her, funny and had a wicked sense of humour. He had made her evening perfect. Without thinking, Hermione lent back against him, and let herself drift into sleep.

Malfoy jumped as the girl relaxed into his chest, and shivered slightly. Unknown to her, for the first time in a while he was battling seriously with his conscience. He'd had a fun evening with her, a Mudblood, which would not add points in his favour with his father. Still, since he had reached his father's height and refused to give in to the beatings and intimidation that had been used against him before, when had he done what his father wanted?

He'd had a great evening, and was seriously contemplating taking her back to his usual classroom to make the night complete. No, she deserved better. He'd take her back to Slytherin, like he'd done with countless girls, but with Hermione it would be different…

No, he corrected himself, hastily. He was not going to do anything. For one thing, he was perfectly happy to keep their relationship on a strictly platonic level, and the only reason he wanted her was because she was Potter's and therefore off-limits.

Or so he told himself.

Eventually, he admitted to himself that he wasn't going to screw her because that wasn't how he wanted her birthday to end. He mustn't fuck her up. The truth was, he reflected bitterly, that she was too good for him.

He'd leave her alone.

Even if it killed him.

They landed in the courtyard again, but the window was closed. Without even thinking, Malfoy kicked off again, and took the broom round to the secret door. Landing, he gently shook the girl awake.

"Wake up, Granger. We're back."

The girl stirred, her eyelashes fluttered slightly, and she gave a tiny moan. Malfoy was instantly kneed in the groin with lust, and determinedly clamped down upon the forbidden feeling, forcing himself to act normally.

He led the half-sleeping girl back to Gryffindor, gritting his teeth to prevent himself from doing anything she would deem improper. They reached her house, and Malfoy patiently waited for her to wake up properly and give the password. The Fat Lady glared disapprovingly at him from her portrait. Thinking he may as well keep up appearances, he threw back a wicked lascivious look at her and was rewarded with a shocked tutting.

"Mmm?" Hermione was finally semi-conscious. "Are we here?"

"At Gryffindor," replied Malfoy, absently. "If you'll give the password to the _nice lady_ I'll go back to Slytherin."

Fully awake, Hermione gasped. "Oh! You're going?"

"Yeah," said Malfoy, smiling crookedly at her. "Unless you want me to stay?"

Hermione went bright red, and muttered something incomprehensible.

"Um…"

Malfoy smiled and saved her by crossing the distance between them. Bending down, he placed a soft kiss on her temple before making away from her down the corridor.

"Malfoy?" She was still standing there. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I just wanted to say… thanks. For this. And supper. And everything."

Malfoy grinned at her before turning away.

"Yeah, yeah. Happy birthday."

Hermione stood stock-still after he'd gone, fingers pressed to the place where he'd kissed her, staring dazedly after her. She was brought back to earth sharply by the Fat Lady.

"Are you going to stand here all night, or will you let me get some sleep?"

Smiling politely at the portrait, she gave the password. Hopping through the hole, she was distracted by the Fat Lady's voice.

"I wanted to say 'well done', girl. For holding your ground with that boy. He's no good, that one. Stay away from him, won't you?"

Hermione simply smiled to herself, and walked to bed, hugging herself.

* * *

Malfoy slammed into the dungeon common room at Slytherin. Sinking into an armchair, he cradled his head in his hands.

"Life used to be so simple," he muttered.

"Bad night, little Draco?"

Looking up, sharply, he relaxed as he saw Pansy emerge from the shadows. Pansy was one of his few real friends, and as they had seen through each other long ago, they were able to be friends with no difficulties. Now he scowled at her as she surveyed him through emerald eyes.

"Difficult."

"How intriguing. How difficult?"

In as few words as possible, he explained, knowing that Pansy would never judge him, or tell anyone else. Both having abusive parents, they knew much more about each other's situation than anyone else could. Malfoy had kept Pansy's secret through her pregnancy, had been present at the birth of his godson. He could trust her.

"Well, seems to me that you've got two options," Pansy said, inspecting her nails. "Option One is simple. Try to get her out of your head. Screw someone else until she's gone."

Malfoy shook his head, gloomily.

"Not that simple. She's stuck there. And there's no-one else to screw."  
"Have you gone through the entire school, then? First-years included?" Pansy grinned at him.

Malfoy did his best to look dignified.

"Certainly not. Well, the first-years part, anyway. Option 2?"

"Screw her. Get her out of your head that way. Couldn't hurt, could it?"

He was already shaking his head, dully.

"I mustn't fuck her up," he intoned monotonously. "I've done that enough already."

Pansy's eyebrows rose.

"You be careful you don't fall for her. Your father would crucify you."

Malfoy's eyes were hard.

"I don't care what he thinks. And I'm not falling for her. This is pure lust, and as soon as the new first-years become old enough, I'm in there."

Pansy sighed, and patted his shoulder.

"Don't stay up too late brooding, will you?"

She left the common room. Malfoy sat in his chair, staring at the fire.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Hermione opened her eyes, sleepily, and rolled out of bed. Checking her clock, she gave a small screech of dismay at the time: she had skipped breakfast, and if she wasn't fast, she'd be late for Arithmancy. Ready in record time, her hair wild, she raced out of the door.

To collide with Harry and Ron.

They looked less than happy.

"Where the hell were you last night?" Harry asked, evenly. "You went to Charms to see Malfoy and you never came back."

Hermione sighed.

"He… took me out somewhere. For supper. It was my _birthday_," she added, defensively.

Ron exploded.

"We know it was your birthday! We only planned a surprise party for you in the common room after school! But no, you have to swan off with _Malfoy_ and make us two look like complete prats!"

Hermione gaped.

"But – but, I came down for breakfast yesterday, and you didn't say anything! Not even 'hello', not even 'Happy birthday, Hermione'. How was I to know you _hadn't _forgotten? Especially since you hardly notice I exist!"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. Ron's ears went scarlet – always a danger sign – and he scowled at her.

"Don't be fucking stupid. We'd planned something for you, because we knew your parents are abroad. We wanted to make sure you actually had a good time!"

Hermione sighed, feeling close to tears again.

"I'm sorry. I really am. If I'd known I'd have – "

"Come along?" said Ron, sarcastically, "Instead of running off with Ferret-boy?"

"_Yes_", Hermione said, desperately. "Of course! And I'm sorry you went to all that trouble for me. If I can make it up to you, I will."

"Fine," said Harry, his voice steely. "Stop teaching Malfoy, and come back to Gryffindor where you belong."

Hermione nodded, her heart sinking.

"I've got a three more lessons to go through before the end of term, and that's it. I'll stop. I promise."

Without another word, Harry and Ron left. Hermione gathered up her books, knowing there was no time to feel sorry for herself, and sprinted down the corridor to Arithmancy.

* * *

Malfoy was not in the best of moods after his sleepless night attempting to expel Hermione from his mind. In fact, on the way to Potions alone he'd managed to hex three second-years and bully a small first-year from his house to tears.

He was, therefore, less amused to be confronted by a spitting Hermione.

"I may have lost my best friends because of you!"

"Hello, how are you, thanks for everything you did last night, it meant so much to me," remarked Malfoy to no-one in particular.

Hermione's scowl deepened.

"Will you for _once_ take something seriously? Harry and Ron are pissed at me because I missed their surprise party in Gryffindor last night!"

"What a shame! I suppose it was the usual Potter/Weasley half-hearted display of affection?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, and Malfoy felt more than a flicker of irritation.

"You – didn't know that they were planning it and took me out just to spite them, did you?"

It was Malfoy's turn to stare. Hurt and angry in spite of himself, he snapped back:

"No. No, I didn't, as a matter of fact. I'm starting to wonder whether I should have bothered or not!"

"Funny," hissed back Hermione, "because it seems to me like just the thing you'd do. Attempt to get to them by having a go at me?"

"Good idea, Mudblood, maybe I should try that tactic sometime. Just..." he trailed his eyes down her body again, and then continued in his most contemptuous tone, "Not on you."

Hermione's own eyes widened, injured.

"You know what, Malfoy? The next time you see me, don't talk to me," she said, quietly.

"Fine," the boy said, shortly, and pushed past her, hiding his hurt and even slight despair within a cloak of indifference.

Hermione merely marched off, seething, to her next lesson.

* * *

The next two weeks or so were not enjoyable. As neither Malfoy nor Hermione were prepared to be the one to break the no-talking rule, they spent the next two lessons in cold silence, Hermione passing Malfoy papers, and continuing with her own work, or handing back marked papers without saying a word.

In truth, Hermione was miserable. After an initial two or three days' protectiveness, Harry and Ron had melted back into their usual state of neglect. Not that Hermione ever thought of them as 'Harry' and 'Ron' any more: it was now definitely 'Harry-and-Ginny' and 'Ron-and-Lavender-and-secretly-Hannah'. Whenever around them, Hermione felt like a true third wheel. Or, she reflected, bitterly, a sixth wheel.

And now Malfoy wasn't talking to her because she'd taken out her guilt on him. It wasn't his fault at all. Just when she thought she was getting to know him, she did something stupid. And she _did_ want to get to know him.

There was even a tiny part of her – or maybe not so tiny – that had strong feelings for him. This frightened her, mostly because he was supposedly her enemy, and because the feelings were entirely new, even when she'd been going out with Victor Krum. What frightened her most was that the 'tiny part' or her wasn't so tiny. It was, in fact, very big.

And if she fell for him, she'd be in deep water.

Cheesy, but true.

She had to make her peace.

Nervously, she cleared her throat, and raised her head. She swallowed a gulp as her eyes met with icy grey ones. _His eyes change colour_, she thought, absently, drawing in a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry that I blamed you for something that wasn't your fault," she said, in a rush, "I just knew that I'd have had a much better time anyway with you than with them, and I felt guilty so I took my guilt out on you!"

She relaxed visibly, panting slightly with the exertion of saying that many words that fast. Malfoy watched her, expressionless.

For his part, Malfoy had also been feeling uncomfortable about their previous conversation. Although he didn't blanch at calling her 'Mudblood' – she should know by now that it was merely his insult when he couldn't think of anything else to call her – but winced whenever he reviewed what he'd said about her body. He had made it seem as if he didn't want her. This was something he should be happy about. It kept up the show of indifference. There was one problem, however:

He did want her. A lot.

And not just her body, but all of her, which would usually awaken little alarm bells in his head. As long as he kept telling himself it was lust, he was fine. If he fell for her…

And now she was staring at him, pleadingly, with those velvety-brown eyes of hers. How could _anyone_ say 'no' to a pair of eyes like that? Sighing, he leaned back in his chair to get a proper look at her face.

"You're sorry?"

"_Yes_! I shouldn't have done it. I loved it, and you were so kind to take me out –"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," said Malfoy, ungraciously. "Look, now that we're talking again, tell me what question 7 means. You gave me 3 and I think I should have got at _least_ 6 for it."

Hermione looked at the paper, and smiled.

"You can't have an electric socket in a bathroom, Malfoy. You'd electrocute yourself."

"Electro – what?"

"Get zapped – bzzz!!"

"Painful?" Malfoy asked, with a small grin.

"Very."  
"Ni-ice."

For the rest of the lesson, they talked, almost nervously, trying to recover their bearings and forget what the other had said. Gradually, however, both began to relax, and revert to their normal selves. By the end of the lesson, Malfoy had Hermione in hysterics, and she kept him surprised by her sharp wit and quick answers. Malfoy, reluctantly, gathered up his books, and shoved them in his bag. Noticing Hermione looked slightly worried, he frowned.

"What's up?"

"Well… next lesson's the last we've got of term," the girl said, hesitantly.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"Basically, I can't really teach you any more," she muttered, staring at the table.

Malfoy's frown developed into a full scowl.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Potter and Weasley, would it?"

"Well, yes," she replied, honestly, "They don't like me doing this."

"Why not?" Malfoy exploded, angrily. Hermione stared at him, and he looked slightly sheepish, an odd expression for him.

"I guess it's _slightly_ obvious," he admitted. "But really, what did they think I'd do?"

"Ron had a theory…" Hermione blushed, and fiddled with her bracelet, "he said you'd – er - rape me and leave me in a classroom."  
Malfoy let out a harsh bark of laughter. That really summed him up in one sentence, didn't it?

"Then you can tell them from me that, so far, you are unscathed. See what they say then."

"That's not the only reason," Hermione said, with a shy smile. "I – don't have any more to teach you. You learn fast, and your marks have rocketed. We've got to the end of the syllabus, and you've done amazingly well."

Malfoy stepped towards her, eyes glowing, until he was a matter of inches away. Something crackled between them, and Hermione gulped, feeling, for one breathless moment, that they were close enough to kiss. Instead, Malfoy paused, a small smile playing around his lips. Slowly, he pulled away, and Hermione drew in a shaky breath. Instead, Malfoy reached for her hand, drew it to his lips, and placed a kiss on her palm. Then, he retreated, with a casual wave, and sauntered out of the door.

Boneless, Hermione sank into a chair.

* * *

The next week followed without real event. Practice exams for NEWTS came and went, with marks to be given out in the autumn. Hermione spent most of her time clearing out her desk and area of her room, and just tidying up loose ends. She wasn't surprised when Ron asked Harry over to the Burrow for the summer before rather awkwardly, even reluctantly, inviting her along too. Coolly, she'd declined – she was staying with a friend during the holidays, and even so, she wasn't sure she could bear much more of their 'fair-weather-friend' company.

The weather was hot and humid, which seemed to put her in an appalling temper most of the time. Convinced her hair was twice as big as it normally was; she took to dumping a basin of water over her head every time she had a chance, hoping that the weight of the water would clamp it down for a while.

Hermione was also disgusted with herself. Having been determined to make her last session with Malfoy as fun as possible, she discovered she couldn't shake off the cloud of gloom that had been with her all week. It was in this frame of mind that she stomped into Charms 7, and glared at Malfoy as she dumped her schoolbag on the desk. Malfoy, looking as fresh in the heavy heat as though he'd just stepped out of a fridge, raised an eyebrow.

"Happy, are we?"

Hermione directed a smouldering glare at him, and collapsed in her chair.

"I hate this weather," she growled, "And I hate exams. And I hate my hair."

"Now, now, Granger, the afro look really suits you."  
"And I hate fucking smart-arses who think it's necessary to make comments about _everything_!" She snapped, shoving her hair out of her eyes.

Malfoy whistled. "Who put pepper in your pumpkin juice this morning?"

"No-one!" she bit off, slamming a pile of papers in front of Malfoy, who blinked at her, questioningly.  
"Past exam papers," she said. "You can do them in the holidays. Keep you up to practice. Meanwhile, here's another for you to do. I'm going to sleep."  
Malfoy shrugged, and got to work. Hermione slumped forward onto the desk, and tried to switch off. A couple of minutes later, finding this dismally unsuccessful, she sat up with a grumpy sigh. A thought struck her, and she surreptitiously tried to flatten her hair with her palms, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eye. God, he was beautiful…

"Hate to point out the obvious, Granger, but you're fighting a losing battle, there."

Hermione sniffed, and stopped. Feeling restless, she got up and sauntered around the classroom, looking at the various instruments on the shelves, and over to the teacher's desk to flick through First Year Exercise Books. Finally, her travels brought her over to the window, staring at the Black Lake which stretched below the Castle. The school grounds in summer really were gorgeous. Brightly coloured flowers crowded the flowerbeds, filling the air with a thick, heavy scent. The lush grass of the pitches faded into dark woodland, which continued as far as the eye could see – the Forbidden Forest.

There had been a time, she reflected, when Hogwarts and its grounds could make her gape at their beauty. Now she felt she'd seen it all. She knew all its secrets inside out, mostly thanks to 'Hogwarts: A History' and her adventures with Harry and Ron.

There was nothing to amaze her any more. It could have been a school like any other. This sudden realisation shocked her so much that she let out a little huff of breath. It must have been louder than she'd originally thought, because Malfoy looked up from his work.

"Enough!" he said, obviously exasperated. "You evidently don't want me to get _any_ work done, as you keep _distracting _me. I can tell when you're pissed, Granger. Tell me what's up, and get it off your very nice chest."  
Too glum to let him get to her, she turned to him abruptly.

"You know what bugs me?" she asked.

"Er… no," Malfoy replied, eyeing her somewhat nervously.

"When I first came here, everything was so – so – magical!"

"Now there's a surprise," said Malfoy sarcastically.

Ignoring him, Hermione continued.

"It was all so _new_ and _exciting_, and _beautiful_! But now… I've learnt everything about everything. I know all about this place, and it bores me. _Everything _bores me!"

Malfoy looked at her, speculatively.

"Could just be end-of-term blues, Granger."

"No," she sighed, regretfully. "I've been feeling that way for ages. I just – admitted it to myself now. I'm sorry," she said, smiling sheepishly. "You must think I'm a complete bloody misery all the time."  
Malfoy grinned. "Maybe not all the time. Look, you're tired, I'm bored. Could we call it a day?"

"It's our last day," she reminded him, softly.

Malfoy shrugged.

"It wouldn't have to be, if you didn't kowtow to Potter and Weasley and let them control your life," he pointed out. Seeing Hermione's scowl, he raised his hands in surrender.

"But if that's the way it has to be…"

The girl nodded, sadly. "Yep. Go ahead – go. I'm going to enjoy the sunshine."

"Remember to put sunblock on – unless, of course, you _like_ being known as the 'Afro-Tomato…?"

Hermione snorted, then paused in the doorway.

"Malfoy?"

"Mmm?"

"Sorry - but - why do you do Muggle Studies?" She went pink. "I mean, come on. Draco Malfoy, Arch-Pure-Blood-Ferret and Muggle-Born Loather? You're the _last_ person I'd expect to be doing this subject."

The boy raised his brows.

"I wince at your crude interpretation. Contrary to public opinion, I do _not_ hate Mud - Muggle-borns. I merely harbour a mild _- _dislike - towards _some _of them. As to why, it's like my father says: Know your enemy - " seeing her face, he added, hastily - "Joke, Granger. Really. Now shoo, I've got some work to do."

The girl smiled, and left, turning the corner.

Behind her, Malfoy sighed, his smile fading. He hadn't entirely been joking.

He returned, thoughtfully, to his chair. She'd shown him a lot this term – he owed her one, and this situation was separate from her birthday. And after all, why _shouldn't_ he show her? It wasn't like it was _his_ secret, after all.

He wanted to show her that she didn't know everything, to repay her for everything she'd done for the past weeks.


	7. Chapter 7

Hey up everyone!! This chapter might be the last for a bit, I'm afraid, as I'm back to school tomorrow after a week skiving off - I mean ill! Yes, ill! Really.

Ahem.

So, this chapter cost me a great deal to write - last night's sleep in fact. I was writing til 5am and was woken up at 8. It's a hard life.

As always, thanks to the wonderful and most marvellous people who reviewed - I love you all btw - and please please PLEASE keep reviewing as the sight of a review in my Inbox is the only thing which will get me through double French for the next month or so.

Lots of love,

Xari xxx

* * *

A couple of hours later, as it started to get dark, Hermione flung open the door to the girls' dormitories, and threw herself on her bed with a sigh. At least it was starting to get cool outside, even if the dorm would be stifling during the night.

A sharp tapping on the window made her sit up, alarmed. A large owl perched on the ledge, barely clinging there by its talons. Gingerly, Hermione opened the window, and the huge bird promptly hopped onto her wrist. It wasn't one of the school owls: besides being much _bigger_ than the school owls, it wasn't the usual dusty-grey, but shimmering black, with piercing yellow eyes.

"You are one expensive bird," muttered Hermione, and attempted to wrench the note from the very strong beak. "Give… give it to me. Give! Fine... please."

Reluctantly, the owl released the note. Hermione glared at it, and opened the tightly-folded note. Written in a bold scrawl across the paper was:

_Meet me by the lake at midnight._

Hermione frowned at the writing: it was Malfoy's.

* * *

It was 11:50. Malfoy paced the area around the lake, biting his nails. If she was late, she'd miss it, and he'd never get another chance to show her before term ended. His blue eyes swept the lake anxiously – it was all right. They hadn't come yet. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he began to chew his nails again, absently.

"Didn't know you bit your nails."

Malfoy jumped, and scowled as Hermione strolled out of the forest, before surreptitiously running his eyes over her, as always.

"I don't," he replied, shortly.

"Do. I just saw you," Hermione folded her arms as though that clinched the argument. "Whatever. Why are we talking like kindergarteners, anyway?"

"_You_ are; I'm not," clarified Malfoy. "C'mere."

Sighing crossly – she could be nicely asleep by now – Hermione obeyed, and yelped as Malfoy casually swept her ankles out from under her, dumping her on her behind.

"Ouch," she grumbled, casting him an accusing look.

"Well, if you _will _dawdle… Just watch the lake, all right?" He, however, lay on his back and stared at the stars until his head spun. Suddenly, Hermione spoke out of the darkness.

"You know what? I coming to think you aren't as much of a shit as you make out to be."

"Really, Granger? What makes you say that?" He focused one blue eye on her. "Not that I'm not entirely bowled over by your charm, of course."  
Hermione blushed slightly, but carried on.

"Well… you taking me out to dinner –"

"That was your birthday. You're entitled."

"And, not telling on me after I slapped you in Third Year."

"I'd have got bollocked if I did."

"And actually talking to me after I screamed at you."  
"Hardly screaming, Granger. Besides, I need a good sparring partner. Crabbe and Goyle don't exactly keep me riveted."

"Why are you so completely stuck on being a bad guy?" cried an exasperated Hermione.

"Can you imagine me being a good guy?"

Hermione looked at him as he raised himself up on one elbow, narrowed his eyes and sent an absurd image into her mind. Malfoy, in a business suit, with hair slicked into a side parting, and an extremely inappropriate halo. Hermione snorted before looking at him, to find the same ridiculously angelic simper on his face. Bursting into laughter, she rolled onto her stomach, only to have Malfoy sit up abruptly and tug him with her.

"Watch the lake!" He whispered.

Frowning, uncomprehending, Hermione turned her gaze towards the clear surface. A large, plain bird flew up towards the stars and hovered in mid-air. Hermione raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Is that it–?"

Malfoy, quick as ever, knelt up and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"_Wait_! Just wait," he muttered in her ear.

The hovering bird suddenly emitted a pure, piercing note. Malfoy felt Hermione's gasp against his hand as other birds, hundreds of other birds flew up to join, settling in a pattern, hovering like the first.

The first bird gave the same keening cry, and the world burst into coloured sparks. The sky lit up like a luminous rainbow as every bird threw out light from its wings and tail. Sparks of orange, green, blue, pink… Every colour Hermione could name was reflected in the sky. A sense of absolute joy shot through her at the beauty and grace of it all, as the birds ducked and weaved in the sky, creating shimmering patterns with their trails. Hogwarts was magical and mysterious again, and she was home.

Slowly she became aware of Malfoy's warmth at her back, and his hand covering her mouth. Malfoy…

And, naturally, Hermione started to think. She thought about her birthday. She thought about laughing so hard that she fell off her chair. She thought about sniping conversations. And she thought about deep, devastating blue eyes.

It hit her like a lightning bolt. She was in love with him. And not even a little bit. Absolutely and entirely in love with Draco Malfoy. And it was painful – how large was the chance he'd feel the same way? How large was the chance that Harry and Ron would lynch her?

Hermione, hating herself, started to cry, silently.

Malfoy was absorbed in the birds and their flight. The nights he watched them were the only times he allowed himself to empty his mind. Even asleep, his dreams were full of problems, calculations, desires…

He was jolted out of his trance by a splash of warmth on the hand currently restraining Granger. He ignored it, thinking it was just a drop of rain from the trees above their heads. Then the warm splashes came thick and fast, and he felt Hermione's torso quiver slightly.

Why on earth was she crying?

Removing his hand from her mouth, he roughly spun her around to face him. Her cheeks glistened silver with tears, her mouth trembled and she gave a little half-apologetic sob.

That was it. Malfoy had had enough. Enough of pretending he didn't want her, enough of keeping her at arm's length. Just… enough.

He dropped his mouth, and kissed her. Hard. He nipped at her lower lip, before soothing it with his tongue. Gently sliding his hands into her thick, dark hair, he cradled her head between his hands, and slanted his own at an angle, deepening the kiss. Tentatively, Hermione opened her mouth to him, and, being Malfoy, he took advantage, plunging his tongue into her mouth, feeling hers come to meet him. He moaned, softly.

He had to stop now or he'd end up taking her on the forest floor.

With more restraint than he felt possible, he broke away, gasping for breath.

"Hermione, I'm not doing this."

The girl looked ever so slightly dazed, but her head came up, defiant as ever.

"Why not? After all, you started it, not me."

Malfoy groaned in frustration, and rolled onto his back, head in his hands.

"You're talking like a kindergartener again," he said, when he was able to speak rationally. "Yes, I started it, but now I'm _stopping _it. For self-preservation!"

Hermione scowled at him.

"_Self-preservation_? What am I supposed to be doing? Killing you, or what?"  
"Yes, killing me!" His voice cracked.

Hermione's glower deepened.

"Grow up, Malfoy," she muttered, thoroughly disgusted. Was he meant to be the experienced one here, or not?

Malfoy's eyes narrowed at her.

"Grow – grow _up?!_" He spluttered. Grabbing her hand, he drew it to him, and placed it over the impressive erection raging between his thighs. He heard her gulp, saw her eyes widen, and felt a blast of pure, male satisfaction.

"Oh…" Hermione squeaked, faintly.

"Yeah," he growled, meeting her eyes squarely. "That's my…"

Releasing her hand, he lay down again, shut his eyes and thought, hard. Peas, his grandmother, Professor McGonagall pole-dancing, ice, Brussel-sprouts…

When he had made himself more comfortable and hauled himself upright, Hermione was standing by the lake, hugging herself. Malfoy sighed and stalked over to her. Taking her by the shoulders, he made her face him.

"I am going to explain to you why this wouldn't work," he spoke slowly, as if to someone slightly dim. "Firstly, your Boy-Who-Just-Won't-Die – don't tell me he'll be dancing for joy if he even hears about this. Secondly, this is pure lust, and you know it. This is why I am blessing the holidays. Thirdly, it's not as if there's any love lost between us. And we both know that in September, everything will go back to normal."

Hermione looked inexplicably – sad. She mumbled something.

"Speak up, Hermione. Mumbling is not a characteristic of yours."

"I thought we were friends," she snapped, irritated.

Taken aback, Malfoy returned:

"Impossible. Listen, it was fun while it lasted – God, I'm talking like I'm ending a two-year relationship – but we've got to stop _now_ before it gets out of control."

_Before _I _get out of control._

Hermione raised herself on tiptoe to stare into his eyes.

"Bollocks, Malfoy. What's really going on?"

He strode a couple of paces away, and clenched his fists in sheer exasperation at this bull-headed female. Shock tactics were called for.

"Fine, Granger, fine! You want to know what's going on? Fine! For the past _three weeks_ I've been fighting damn hard to keep my hands off you, just in case I jump you by accident. Is that what you wanted to hear? That I can't eat, sleep, doing _any-fucking-thing_ because _all the time _I'm thinking about your body, touching you, kissing you, screwing you... _Is that what you wanted to hear?_"

Turning back, praying she hadn't started crying again, or worse, laughing, he noticed with astonishment that her eyes were as hard as his.

"Have it your own way, Malfoy. I'm going back to bed. Tonight was… interesting. Thank you."

She sauntered past him. Speechless at her coolness, he grabbed her arm as she walked by.  
"What are you going to do?"

"Do? Nothing," she said, evenly. "I'm going to have a nice holiday, and come back next term with you out of my head. Until then, I am going to employ the mantra 'out of sight, out of mind'."

"Fine by me, Granger," he called after her. "Fine by me."

"Good-night, Malfoy."

* * *

Ha ha! The heat is on!

What will happen...?

See you later, xari xxx


	8. Chapter 8

Fanfiction is bad for my English essays. And my French coursework. And my Spanish coursework. And so, so SO many other different things that I just couldn't care less about in this, my last, and most important year of school. No matter...

Woo hoo! Another chapter is up! Enjoy, and please, please review, for you are lovely people for whom I neglect my REALLY pressing essay on 'Cronica de una Muerte Anunciada'. So you see, I love you all.

xxx

* * *

Things changed, and they didn't change. Hermione and Draco passed each other in the corridors, avoiding each other's eyes, leaving rooms to avoid unnecessary contact. To ensure the mask of indifference stayed in place, just in case Potter and Weasley bawled her out for fraternisation, Draco took to hissing 'Watch it, Mudblood' every so often. In short, everything had gone back to normal.

And they both hated it.

Harry and Ron, it seemed, had decided to spare Hermione a little of their time. After weeks of neglect, Hermione couldn't work out their motive, but suspected it had something to do with a certain blue-eyed Slytherin. It was nice to have their company, however, and Hermione determinedly blocked out any thoughts of Draco.

Draco was dismally looking towards the holidays in the family home. He too, had been attempting to erase Hermione from his mind, in his own fashion. At breakfast one morning, Pansy had patted his hand, and whispered 'Welcome back', indicating another Slytherin girl who was absolutely bow-legged from screwing. Draco simply nodded, and dropped his head onto his arms. He couldn't tell anyone, not even Pansy. That, whoever he screwed, whenever he slept, he only saw Hermione.

Term ended, and the exhausted students climbed onto the train back to King's Cross, Draco and Hermione included. Both emerging from different Prefect compartments at the same time, both did a very good job of ignoring the other, until the train lurched, throwing Hermione into Draco. Without thinking, he caught her, one hand bracing her shoulder, the other catching her waist. As the train levelled, Hermione caught his eye and blushed crimson, remembering that night, the kiss and what he'd said. Draco, remembering himself, almost shoved her away from him, as if she burned him. Meeting each other's eyes, they went their separate ways.

The holidays were a relief compared to the hectic previous term, and Draco soon relaxed. The family, as usual, moved to their private island in the Bahamas, shielded from view by magic, only taking a select group of friends. Draco settled down into a routine of eating, sleeping, dreaming of Hermione, and exorcising the dreams by screwing the daughters who came with the other guests. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get her out of his head. He'd have a damn good try, though…

* * *

Hermione's family stayed at home, the summer being a hot one, and her father having just been promoted. As usual, she spent a lot of time with her Muggle friends, who had been told the careful lie that she went to a boarding school in Scotland. There was one who knew the truth, and that was Rachel, who had known Hermione since they were toddlers, and who knew all about Hogwarts, Harry and Ron. She didn't, however, know about Draco, and Hermione quickly filled her in one day.

"Girl, he sounds gorgeous," cried Rachel. "Why didn't you ask him out?"

Swiftly, reddening, Hermione told her about the incident by the lake. Rachel whistled.

"He's got some serious self-control, you looking as you do. Ah well. His loss, I guess. Did you sleep with him?"

"_Rachel_!" Hermione swatted her best friend. "No, I didn't!"

"Never mind, then," Rachel carried on, cheerfully. "Resign yourself to our fate: a cottage in Devon and the label of 'Batty Spinster Extraodinaire'."

Rachel and Hermione had accepted their destiny long ago: Having never had anything remotely near a boyfriend in their lives, at sixty, they were going to pack up their stuff and move to Devon, where, according to Rachel, they would mete out the rest of their days terrorising the local children. However, since the Draco-Dilemma, Hermione had been thinking of an escape route from this fate – or a diversion at least - and tentatively mentioned this to Rachel.

Rachel fell of the sofa.

"_What_?" She yelped. "You're planning to _seduce_ him? Good Lord, Hermione."  
"No! Not to seduce him. Just to… see if I can break him. No flirtatious behaviour needed. I know it sounds stupid, but…" It was coming, and she had to say it. "I… I love him."  
"Duh, Hermione; it's written all over your face. I didn't mean it sounded stupid," said Rachel, defensively. "It's just… so unlike you. Ah, well!" She brightened, "I'm always up to a challenge."

"What?"

"You don't seriously think you're going to get him wearing stuff like _that_, do you?" Rachel snorted.

"It's my favourite jumper," Hermione protested.

"Precisely. 'Favourite' equals _old_ and _smelly _and _out of date_," Rachel stated, ruthlessly. "Have you got your allowance yet?"

"No, I get it next week."

"We're going shopping, and then I'm going to take you for a manicure, then a makeover."

"Good grief."

* * *

Rachel was as good as her word. Hermione's parents had cut birthday-present-buying time in half by simply presenting her with a cheque to buy clothes. Apparently, Hermione's mother had been thinking along the same lines as Rachel. After three weeks hard shopping, Hermione had a complete wardrobe, and a completely new look. Her hair had been smoothed and lightly streaked. The stylist who had done her makeover had taught her how to apply her make-up and keep her hair as far away from bird's-nest-status as possible. Looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione felt that maybe, just maybe, she might have a chance of success.

Three weeks before the end of the holidays, Hermione's parents reported a letter for her. Blearily making her way downstairs – it was morning, and Hermione was not a morning person – she saw that the envelope was of thick parchment, and had no stamp. Oh, perfect, she thought, more school. Looking closer, she frowned. The letter had been opened.

It was only then she realised that her parents were staring at her, eagerly. Looking at them, oddly, Hermione drew the parchment letter, and read.

_Dear Miss Granger…_

She read a sentence and flumped down onto a chair.

"I got it," she whispered. "I got Head Girl."

Breaking into nearly hysterical laughter, she hopped up and down with glee, before hugging her parents happily.

"At least it means you get your own room, dear," Hermione's mother said, as she continued to iron and fold shirts. "Though I'm a bit disappointed that there's only one bathroom."  
"Doesn't matter, Mum," said Hermione, dreamily. "So long as I _have_ my own room, I don't care."

"And what about the boy who'll be sharing your quarters?"

Hermione sat up, abruptly, before taking out the letter again. Reading it, she let out a huff of air.

"No! No, no, no, no, _no_! It's _him_!" She wailed. "Bloody _Malfoy_!"

"Is this the boy who's been causing you and Rachel to chatter upstairs for hours on end?" Hermione's mother smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I'm not stupid, dear. Nor did I miss you throwing out every single old item you had."  
Hermione's mouth fell open, and her mother laughed.

"It won't be so bad. Just…" she reddened, slightly. "Darling, well, girls and boys of your age have…er… _urges_ –"

Hermione clapped her hands over her ears, and started to sing. Loudly.

"All right, all right!" said her mother, smiling again. "I won't inflict The Talk on you yet."

"Or _ever_," cried Hermione. "_Honestly, _Mother. 'Urges', indeed!"

Standing up, she sighed, and stretched.

"Hurrah for me. I'm off to pack."  
"Not yet, dear. We have to go to Diagon Alley first, and I haven't ironed your robes yet. Pack next week. Anyway, you're not _that_ anxious to leave, are you?"

Hermione ran to her mother and hugged her.

"Never," she whispered. "Never want to leave."

* * *

Draco's reaction to _his_ letter was somewhat different. Reading it, he simply dropped it back on the table, mentioned it to his father, who grunted behind his newspaper, and then slouched up to his bedroom, snapping at the house-elf for a drink. Preferably one that contained alcohol.

Head Boy. Lucky him, he should be glad to have been chosen. Somehow, he couldn't quite work up the enthusiasm. Suddenly, his eyes widened, as he remembered a bit at the bottom of the page, which he had just glanced at, but hadn't really digested.

_You will be sharing your duties with Miss Hermione Granger of Gryffindor_…

"Oh, shit!"

* * *

Hermione dumped her things on her bed, and breathed. It smelled like school, all right. Soap, disinfectant and potions. Resisting the temptation to sneeze, she flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. He wasn't back yet, she noted, or if he was, he'd probably be getting 're-acquainted' with some girl, somewhere. Hermione had not missed the girls swarming around him, and reflected, bitterly that Draco seemed to have had little difficulty getting over those strong feelings that he'd yelled to her before the summer. Whereas, she was as smitten as ever.

"Hermione!" There was a squeal.

She sat up and smiled. Ginny was standing in the doorway, grinning like a maniac.

"Girl, this room is _cool_! How was your holiday?"

"Not bad," Hermione replied, absently. "Yours?"

"Pretty much normal, really. Who's sleeping in there?"

Hermione winced.

"Draco Malfoy."

Ginny grimaced.

"It won't be so bad, I'll bet. Anyway," she cocked her head, slyly. "You've heard the rumours about him, haven't you? Maybe your Team Bonding Sessions will be a bit more than the usual, hmm?"

Hermione laughed, and shoved Ginny off the bed.

"Not likely. Push off, brat, I've got to go to supper."  
"Well," said Ginny, regally, "In the absence of your co-Head-Whatsit, I am coming with you."

As Hermione stood up, Ginny stared.

"Your _hair_ – what have you done to – and your _face_! It's actually made up!"

Her eyes narrowed, and slowly a grin of understanding came across her face.

"Well, well, well. Watch out, Draco Malfoy."

Crimson and giggling, Hermione pushed her friend out the door.

* * *

The castle was dark when Draco arrived. His father had explained in a letter to Snape that he'd be late, coming back from the Bahamas and all. Then there had been the business of finding his way to the Head Pupils' Quarters. This had been more difficult than anticipated, as the portrait guarding the rooms had been slightly reluctant to let him in.

Although exhausted, Draco explored his surroundings. His room was spacious, but with the sparse furniture and décor that usually comes with boarding schools. Disgusted, Draco took his wand out of his back pocket, and muttered a spell of his own invention. His duvet and curtains turned a mixture of green and silver, the bed became double – and he intended to use it – and the wardrobe space magically increased while not taking up any more of his room. Carpets appeared on the floors, and posters on the walls.

Having decorated his room to his satisfaction, Draco was just about to fall into bed, too drained to unpack or undress, but then he noticed the door. Carved into the panelling opposite him, it was discreet, and it had no handle. Quietly walking across the carpet, he tapped it, and heard it rattle slightly. Taking out his wand, he tapped it with it. It swung open to reveal a bathroom about the size of his bedroom, with the usual basics. Shower, bath, everything. Draco grinned. This was Hogwarts, and nothing was ever what it seemed. He'd further his exploration tomorrow.

About to turn back, he saw another door. And this one had a handle. He turned back to his own door, and noticed the handle on the bathroom-side. After all, who'd want to get stuck in a bathroom?

He had an inkling where this door went, but wanted to make sure before he slept. Moving across the bathroom, he turned the handle, and opened the door.

The room was in darkness, with just moonlight shining faintly through the curtains. Hermione's room. She was probably asleep. He should go. But his legs wouldn't take him. If anything, they took him closer to her bed. Cautiously, he peered down at her, testing his feelings. Lying on top of the duvet, dressed in a flimsy t-shirt, torn over one shoulder, and linen pyjama-bottoms, her clothes and skin shone palely in the moonlight. Draco stifled a moan of mixed desire and despair. The feelings had not gone; if anything, they were stronger. Hermione sighed, and turned over in her sleep, and Draco noticed for the first time a thread-bare teddy clutched in her arms.

Still a child, after all. He was right to have stopped her.

He was. Really.

Backing away, fighting the lust rising in his throat, he nearly tripped over a handbag lying in the middle of the floor. _Women_, he thought in disgust as he caught himself just in time. _Can't they ever tidy up?_

Silently, he backed out of the room, and shut the door.

* * *

Hermione was woken in the morning by a loud expletive from next door.

"Fuck it! Fuck it, fuck it _fuck it_!"

She moaned, irritated, and checked her watch. 7:15. She may as well get up; breakfast was at 8, anyway. Hauling herself out of bed, she rolled her eyes as another yell of '_Fuck it!'_ echoed through the wall. Flinging her curtains wide, she located the door between their two rooms. She threw it open and walked through, briskly.

"You're back, are you? I hadn't noticed," she said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Her mouth fell open as she discovered Draco in the middle of the floor, kneeling in front of a suitcase, with his back to her, clad solely in a pair of jeans. She stared at him, dreamily, watching the muscles ripple in his back. She just managed to close her mouth as he turned round abruptly, and got to his feet. Looking at her, he scowled.

"How the _hell_ did you get in here?" he snapped.

Hermione silently indicated the door.

"Fine. Next question: _Why_ the hell are you in here?"

He turned back to his suitcase. Hermione yawned and stretched, sleepily.

"And don't think that you torturing me with your body will distract me from that question," he continued, picking up a pile of clothes and standing up to face her. Instantly, he covered his eyes with one hand.

"Hermione – bugger, Granger, go and put a dressing-gown on or something," he said, his voice suddenly choked.

Hermione glared at him, arms akimbo.

"Malfoy, I know I'm not Venus de Milo in the morning, but even _you _could be a bit less unflattering."

"Trust me on this one, Granger. _Put – a – dressing – gown – on."_

Grumbling, Hermione returned to her own room. Fishing her dressing-gown out of her wardrobe, she froze. The mirror showed the torn fabric of her top had fallen down, revealing almost the whole of her breast. Crimson with embarrassment, she slung the garment over one shoulder and tied it up, tightly. She looked at her red face in the mirror, and tilted her chin up, defiantly. The old Hermione would have hidden from him all day. Not this time. She'd see this through.

Sauntering back into Malfoy's room, Hermione raised an eyebrow. Clothes littered the floor, and Malfoy sat on his bed, a mulish look in his eyes. Sighing, she picked up a pile of shirts and looked at Malfoy expectantly.

"Where do these go?" she asked, smartly, and in response to Malfoy's speechless gesture, opened his chest of drawers and dumped them inside.

"Not one of nature's unpackers, are you?" she said, disapprovingly.

Picking up some jeans, she threw him a questioning look. Malfoy unfurled his long legs from under him and stood in front of her, arms folded across his chest.

"What are you doing?" he asked, quietly.

Hermione looked at him properly. He looked done in, faint stubble covering his cheeks. In fact, he looked mildly dangerous, and Hermione took a minute to wonder how fast she could run if things turned – unfortunate.

"I am helping you sort out this mess you call a room," she said, as if he had misplaced some brain-cells during the night. "Unless, of course, you _like_ living in a bombsite...?"

Malfoy shook his head as if dizzy.

"Don't, Granger. Just – don't," he muttered, and almost ran for the bathroom. Hermione heard the hum of magic, indicating the lock-spell was active. Sighing, she continued her work.

What on earth was wrong with him?

Draco was sitting in the bath, chewing his nails again, occasionally running his fingers through his blond hair. Rocking backward, his head collided with the wall, hard. Swearing quietly, he rubbed the abused spot, and tried to slow his breathing.

Living in such close proximity to her was going to kill him.

When he finally hauled himself out of the bath, he cautiously checked his room before letting himself back in. Hermione – _Granger_, damnit! – had gone, leaving in her wake neat piles of clothes stacked in rows on the floor. Sniffing ungratefully, Draco picked up the first pile and dumped it in a drawer. A year. It was only a year. Come on, he could manage _a year_!

A loud thudding on his wall made him jump. Striding over to the connecting door, Draco yanked it open, snarling:

"Now what?"

He gaped.

Hermione's hair was pulled back into a smooth pony-tail, which cascaded over her shoulder. A cream camisole topped with a cherry-coloured cardigan emphasised her luscious curves, stopping short of her belly, leaving her navel on show. Low-slung jeans drew his eyes to her long, long legs.

Draco swallowed. What had happened to Frump-Girl, Champion Dresser of the Frump Nation? Hermione grinned. Why was there something so... vampirical about that smile?

"And here was I thinking that boys were fast dressers," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "Get on with it, Ferret, or we're going to be _very _late for breakfast."

Reaching up, and patting his cheek – _patting his cheek!_ – she turned and left his room, shutting the connecting door in his face. Seconds later, he heard the portrait door slam. Draco shut his eyes and rocked backward, dazedly, on his heels.

Fuck it if he could manage a year.


	9. Chapter 9

All right, so I kind of caved in an put both chapters up at the same time. So I can get on with my work like a good little cockroach.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

Love you all, xari xxx

* * *

Half an hour later, Draco and Hermione were standing up in front of the whole school, as Dumbledore 'introduced them' to the rest of the school as the new heads of school. Hermione stood, rigid with embarrassment – being naturally quiet, she wasn't used to so many eyes on her. Draco simply looked bored, surreptitiously glancing around the room for other boys staring at the girl beside him. Seeing a few of them eyeing her with new-found interest, a fierce bolt of possessive jealousy shot through him.

This was ridiculous. He had to get a grip on himself.

Flicking his eyes over to the Gryffindor table, he noticed Weasley's eyes were riveted on Hermione. Suddenly interested, are we? thought Draco, savagely.

They were dismissed, and made their way back to their respective tables. Hermione sank, bonelessly down onto the bench. Harry and Ron were staring at her with unflattering amazement. Ginny was smirking.

"What's wrong, boys?" she asked, sweetly. "Tongue-tied?"

Ron gulped.

"'Mione, you've – you've _got legs_!" he squeaked, eyes like saucers.

Ginny sighed.

"As usual, my older brother displays such tact and grace," she remarked, grinning at Hermione, who was blushing furiously.

"Thank-you for pointing that out, Ronald," Hermione replied, with dignity. "May I remind you that there are _three_ syllables in my name?"

Harry broke into the conversation.

"So, Head Girl," he grinned at her, "How's life with Ferret-Arse?"

Hermione ran her hands through her hair. Ginny – mercifully – hadn't told Harry and Ron of her plan. Then again, she wouldn't have expected her to.

"Not bad," she said, carefully. "But I haven't really talked to him yet. It'll be fine, I'm sure. Don't worry –" she added, hastily, seeing the boys looking boot-faced – "I won't fraternize too much with the enemy."

"Right," said Ginny, suddenly, "See you later, boyfriend, and brother. Hermione and I are going to have a little chat."

Physically dragging Hermione out of the Great Hall and back to the Heads of Schools' Quarters, Ginny waved her wand around Hermione's room.

"Sound-proofing spell?" Hermione said, eyebrows raised. "Are we talking secrets now?"

Ginny smiled, wickedly.

"No – we're going to talk about how you propose to seduce Malfoy."

She steepled her fingers.

"The clothes are good, Hermione, I applaud you. But they won't be enough. You need _confidence_!"

"I _am_ confident," protested Hermione. Ginny scowled at her, consideringly.

"Fine, fine. Confidence – check. Clothes – check. But please. Have you seen the girls that hang round that boy? They've got... ah... _zing!_"

Hermione raised her brows.

"Zing?"

"You know – zing! That's how they keep him – barely – interested. Don't get me wrong, sweetie, the blushing-shrinking-flower-innocent route is good. It's refreshing, considering the whores on offer, but how long is it going to hold him for? A month? Two weeks?"

Hermione simply stared at her, blankly. Ginny gestured wildly with her hands.

"My point _is_ you could try to be a little more –"

"Slutty?" put in Hermione, acidly. Ginny glared.

"_No_. Will you let me finish? You could try to be a bit more... tantalising."

Hermione's eyebrows were on a par with her hairline.

"Brazen? Flirty, you mean."

"Ye-es... _God_ it's hard to describe... classy! That's it! Flirt in a classy way! Make him see what he's missing!"

"It's... good, Gin," said Hermione, doubtfully. "But I decided that I wouldn't change my behaviour just to get someone. It wouldn't be... me."

Ginny's frown deepened.

"Ok, Hermione, play it your way," she said, irritably. "Just don't be too surprised if your ship sails by. And don't try to tell me those clothes are 'you'. You looked shabby, admittedly, but far more comfortable in that old jumper of yours. "

Hermione threw up her hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Fine! Just nothing too drastic. I don't want him to suspect anything."

"And, be careful, Hermione. Please. For me."

Hermione frowned. "I'm not stupid, Gin. I won't let myself get emotionally involved –" Oh God, she should be struck down for lying – "I just want a bit of...experience."

Ginny looked at her critically.

"Well," she said, slowly, "If you're sure?"

Hermione tried for a smile, even though she could feel her heart thudding with panic at the mere thought of it.

"Never more sure of anything in my life," she assured her friend.

* * *

Draco was drifting in the middle of a highly disturbing dream. He was on top of a giant marshmallow, which seemed to be floating high above the castle. On a cloud in front of him sat Hermione, with a pile of books, all of which read: _How to Deflate Giant Marshmallows _on the spine. Why wasn't she naked? In any other dream she'd have been naked. Give me a break, said his imagination, You haven't seen her naked, so you haven't given me much to work with. Don't point the accusing finger at me.

Turning away from the bizarre conversation with his own sub-conscious, Draco looked at Hermione, who was sporting an evil expression and pointing her wand at his marshmallow. She muttered something, and he suddenly felt the marshmallow give beneath him. Instantly, he was falling back to Earth. He shut his eyes and curled into a ball as the ground hurtled up to meet him. He hit the ground and sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. Then choked.

At the end of his bed, wearing a look of nervous concern was Hermione.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You kept yelling things – something to do with a marshmallow."

"You – _you­ _– and the marshmallow!" spluttered Draco, gasping. "It's - a conspiracy! You – and – deflating marshmallows! Killing me!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Coherent, as ever. Malfoy, if I ever wanted to kill you, I'd think carefully about my choice of murder weapon before picking the marshmallow. By the way, you're late, and we've got a meeting with McGonagall this morning. If you get dressed _quickly_, I'll wait for you outside."

She paused.

"Although... It wouldn't exactly matter if you just came in what you're wearing now. Well, I wouldn't mind."  
She made a swift exit before he could say anything. Looking down at himself, Draco remembered that he wore nothing but a pair of boxers. Groaning, he flung himself back on his bed, the mist of sleep clearing from his brain, leaving one thought:

That was a singularly un-Hermione-like comment.

What was going on?

* * *

Breakfast was hurried due to Draco's over-sleeping. At the Slytherin table, he wolfed down his food, and casually glanced over to the Gryffindor table to make sure that Potter and Weasley weren't eyeing Hermione up. He accidentally caught her eye. Looking at him, Hermione directed slow smile his way, and to his utter disbelief, Draco felt a faint flush rise in his cheeks. Getting out of his seat, he stumbled slightly, and was out of the Hall like a shot, feeling her eyes on him.

Just what the hell was going on?

"I feel so bad," confessed Hermione to Ginny as they left the Hall, Harry and Ron at a safe distance. Ginny quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Bad bad, or bad good?"

Hermione considered, thoughtfully.

"Both, actually. I mean, the look on his face this morning when I said... yeah, that was great –" she giggled. "But just now when he nearly went flying, I... just felt so bad for him. He's not that bad, really. He can be quite sweet."

Ginny froze, and grabbed Hermione's sleeve. Dragging her into a nearby classroom, she gave Hermione the full benefit of her most ferocious scowl.

"So..." she said. "So. No, no, Ginny, I won't get emotionally involved? Bollocks, you love him, don't you?"

"No!" snapped back Hermione, "No, I don't! I felt sorry for him, that's all!"

"Oh, bugger _that_, Hermione! You're up to your neck in it and you know it! I should have _known – _you're head over heels in love with him!"

"Gin, calm down."

"No!" yelled Ginny, pacing the classroom. "No, I won't calm down! He's going to hurt you, and you're going to be completely traumatised for the rest of your life!"  
"My life? Ginny, I think that's a bit far –"

"And what's more, you _didn't tell me_!" Ginny wailed. "I'm meant to be your best friend and you didn't tell me! Which means that if you _had _got him, and he hurt you, I would've had to get Harry to kill him for being a bastard, so Draco would have died, then _you _would have killed Harry for killing your one-true-love, so we'd both have no boyfriends, or you'd go out with Ron, which would be worse, and _then _we'd end up as old spinsters living in a flat together with ten million cats! _That's what comes of not telling me things!_"

Hermione blinked.

"As much as I fail to see what living in a flat with ten million cats has to do with not telling you things, I admit it. I do... love him. So, please help me. What am I meant to do?"

She looked so miserable that Ginny lost the desire to shake her, and grinned instead.

"What do you mean 'what are you meant to do?'" she demanded, incredulously. "You've got me! With my illustrious and slightly sneaky ways, we will wear him down!"

"But..." Hermione said in a small voice. "How do I get him to love me back?"  
Ginny couldn't think of an answer, and simply wrapped her friend in a tight hug.

"We'll get him. Just follow my lead, and we'll get him."

* * *

The meeting with the teachers was long, and quite amazingly boring. After a jet-lagged night's sleep, Draco frequently found his eyes drifting shut, especially when the new, rather large chairman of the school governors arrived to drone on about how the benches in the Great Hall should be replaced with chairs to pacify the Wizarding Health and Safety Council.

Knowing he would be yelled at if he dropped off, Draco searched for a distraction to keep himself awake. His gaze turned almost automatically to Hermione. Someone – God bless whoever it was – had persuaded her to wear a low cut top that day. The top neatly exposed the tops of her breasts, and Draco found his eyes riveted towards the expanse of flesh. They were perfect, as he'd expected, and had often dreamed about in dreams that definitely hadn't included any Draco-killing marshmallows. Hermione seemed riveted by the conversation, although Draco couldn't understand what was so enthralling about the question of whether the handles on the doors were safe enough to appease the Council. She could fill him in on the details later. He, meanwhile, would calmly ogle her until –

"Mr. Malfoy, what do you think of this question?"

Oh, bugger.

Professor McGonagall was giving him her very best Evil Eye. Draco slowly looked around the table. All the members of staff were looking at him expectantly, and the chairman of the Governors was beaming benevolently. Draco sighed – he was fucked – and accidentally caught Hermione's eye. She rolled her eyes, and grinned maniacally, giving a surreptitious thumbs-up.

"I think it's an excellent suggestion, sir," Draco said, giving the chairman the benefit of his most dangerous smile – don't push it, porky.

"Really, Malfoy? Do you have any suggestions about the motion that was passed in favour of loaning school grounds during the summer holidays?"

Draco's head shot up in amazement – Hermione had asked the question.

"Uh..." he said, brilliantly.

The seconds ticked by

"Actually, I think Malfoy's right. The Prefects need to discuss it. Can I take back that question please?"

Hermione looked across the table at a scowling Draco, and gave him a ghost of a wink.

The meeting was over and Draco stomped out, not even bothering to speak to the chairman of the Governors, as was expected. He leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. This was not good. He was supposed to be _over_ the chit, or at least not staring at her like some gormless fourteen-year-old on his first heavy date. McGonagall strode out, and surveyed him critically.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd put forward more suggestions, Mr Malfoy. Where _were_ you today? Your head was obviously up in the clouds somewhere. Next time, _please_ remember your position of authority and act on it accordingly."

With that, she marched off in the direction of her study, leaving Malfoy cursing quietly to himself. Hermione – Granger, for Christ's sake, _Granger_ – was getting to him. What's more, he was _letting_ her get to him. He had to rise above it.

As if responding to his thoughts, Granger sauntered out of the meeting room, talking seriously with the chairman. Malfoy watched them out of the corner of his eye. They exchanged goodbyes and understanding smiles before going their separate ways. The chairman walked past him, muttering acknowledgment. Malfoy did the same. Suddenly, the chairman doubled back to stare at him. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny tinged with something he couldn't place.

"You're Lucius Malfoy's boy, aren't you?" the chairman asked, abruptly.

"Yes, sir," said Malfoy, schooling his face into an inscrutable expression.

The chairman was now looking at him with open scorn and dislike.

"Yes...now I see. That explains a lot. Your dad's _really _got the school under his thumb, hasn't he, son?"

With that, the chairman waddled off. Malfoy restrained himself from launching himself at the retreating, podgy back – barely. Suddenly there was a hand on his arm. Granger had appeared once again.

"Leave it," she said, grimly. "It's not worth it."

Malfoy gaped.

"Granger – he just implied I got Head Boy because of my father!"

"Yes, I know, but beating him into a pulp is just going to prove his point, isn't it? If you're trying to prove you're not your father, just walk away."

"I'm not my father, Granger," snapped Malfoy. "Remember that."

"I _know_ that," said Granger, patiently. "But did you really think that everybody was just going to accept the choices. Come on, I get chosen and they mutter about favouritism. You get chosen, and they mutter that friends in high places got you there. All you can do is ignore it."

"Any more advice today?" said Malfoy, smiling crookedly.

Granger was already walking off.

"No... Actually, yes."

She turned round and looked him in the eye, smiling wickedly.

"The next time you want to stare at my boobs during a council meeting, try not to look as though you want to take me hard up against the wall there and then. Or maybe ask me first. I wouldn't be... against... that proposition."

* * *

Hermione took a couple of seconds to take in his expression, then laughed as seductively as she could, as taught by Rachel, and walked off, forcing herself not to run and lock herself in the nearest cupboard. Oh, God, how could she keep this up? Her cheeks were crimson, and she pressed her hands against them. What was she getting herself into, here? This I-am-woman behaviour may be all right for Ginny, but it just didn't suit her. At that moment, Ginny came around the corner. Grabbing the red-head by her robes, Hermione forcibly dragged her friend back up to her room.

"Password?" came the bored voice of the portrait to the Head of School quarters.

"'Frustration', fuck it, '_frustration_', please just let us in!" panted Hermione.

"Bit of politeness might help," sniffed the portrait, before reluctantly opening.

Snarling, Hermione threw herself into her room, towing a harassed-looking Ginny. She flung herself onto her bed, and hit her head against her pillow in utter embarrassment. Finally sitting up, she stared at Ginny, who was watching the scene with eyebrows raised.

"I can't do it," Hermione explained. "I said what you told me to, but - it's so _hard_ – I mean, he must see through it. I could practically hear my voice shaking. It's just so – not me."

Ginny sighed.

"Hermione, stick to the plan. You're doing fine. Remember what we talked about: he's not stupid, of _course_ he'll have figured out what you're doing. But that is the point. It wouldn't be much good being subtle and him not realising your feelings. And after all, isn't one point of this exercise to gain you some experience? If nothing else, it'll definitely give you that. Besides –" Ginny's voice grew mischievous – "his face must have been a treat."

Hermione tried to look serious, but giggled.

"Oh, God, Gin, it was priceless. He was actually speechless. I must admit, this stuff may end up being completely pointless and humiliating, but having the power to render Malfoy flabbergasted is something I could get to like. So long as I don't have to face him for the next 10 years."

Ginny grinned.

"Next 10 years I don't know about – you _are_ in next-door rooms – but I suppose you have until tomorrow to regain your composure –"

The door to Hermione's room burst open, revealing Malfoy, eyes blazing, and looking less than amused.

"Out, Weaslette!" he barked. "Granger and I have some things to discuss."

"Really, Malfoy?" replied Ginny, sweetly. "Head of School matters – or something else?"

Malfoy looked dangerous, and Ginny took the hint, and sauntered out, waving to Hermione. The Head Boy surveyed the girl with angry eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, his voice determinedly even.

"I've no idea what you mean, Malfoy," said Hermione, trying to sound as bored as possible.

"See, I really think you do," Malfoy said, conversationally. "And I just want to say that it's not going to work."  
Hermione dropped the pretence. He knew, and there was no point trying to hide it.

"Oh? Why not?"

Malfoy moved to stand directly in front of where she was sitting on the bed. He meant business.

"Because," he said, softly. "You are going to stop this, right now."

"Am I, Malfoy?" Hermione stood up, so they were practically nose to nose, bodies centimetres apart. She stood on tiptoe and looked directly into his eyes.

"Make me."

Malfoy stared at her, a mixture of fury, exasperation and laughter in his eyes. He took her shoulders and shoved her back down on the bed, and quickly stepped backwards, as far away from her and temptation as it was possible to get.

"Granger, you're playing with fire. And if you don't stop _now_ you're going to get burnt. I hope I've made myself clear enough, because if I haven't... well, let's just say that two can play the game you're playing. And if it comes to it... bear that in mind, Granger. Just bear that in mind."


	10. Chapter 10

Hello - as I love you all very much, I decided to update in time for Christmas, as I'm staying at my Granny's, and as I recall, you can't update or access the internet on a type-writer. Such is my Grandmother's house. You know... the oil lamps, the penny farthing outside, the help, the scullery maid called Bella, and the lack of hot water. Or, water in general.

SO because you are all exceeding wonderful people, here we go...

Lots of love,

xari xxx

* * *

Following their conversation the previous day, Hermione proceeded to avoid Malfoy like the plague. Ginny, catching on, was by turns wildly curious about the scene she had missed and deeply disapproving at Hermione's behaviour.

"Look at yourself!" she snapped, colliding with Hermione one morning. "You're reduced to peering round corners to see if he's there or not!"

"I'm not," muttered Hermione, untruthfully. "And anyway, didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to sneak up on people like that?"

"I grew up with Fred and George. Are you surprised? So, how's it going with Super-Stud?"

Hermione went red and muttered something non-committal. Ginny scowled at her as, having established Malfoy was not there, they strode down the corridor.

"You've been _deliberately_ dodging him, haven't you? Hermione, what did we discuss?"

"Self-assertion," mumbled Hermione, distractedly, as she checked the next corner and moved on. "But, Gin, that's beside the point."

"_How _is that beside the point?"  
"Well... I – fine, I don't know, but you didn't hear what he said last night. He's brewing up something nasty, and possibly painful. So, I'll just... employ evasion action until he forgets."

Ginny raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"You seriously think he's going to forget? Really, Hermione, I thought you were smarter than that."

"Yes – well – I can't talk about it now; I'm just about to be very late for Herbology."

"What, with stopping to ensure Malfoy isn't going to leap out at you from behind a suit of armour? Surprising!"

"Oh, shut up!" snapped Hermione, so incensed she forgot to check round the corner. Stomping round the corner, towing Ginny with her, she found herself nose-to-nose with –

"Hiding from me, Granger? Wow, that's _really_ lame. Sensible, perhaps. But so lame. What? No risky little comment for me, today? What _has _got into you?"

"Not you, Malfoy, apparently," retorted Ginny. "Stop trying to stand on my foot, Hermione, it won't work. Really, Malfoy, are you _that_ blind? A pretty girl makes you an offer, and you just let it slide? I'm surprised at you."

Malfoy looked at her with some distaste.

"Yes, I thought you'd have something to do with this, Weaslette. It's just the sort of thing you'd think up. Well, I'm going to give you the exact spiel I gave Granger yesterday: Drop. It. Now. Or I'll make your life as much of a misery as you are making mine. Are we clear?"

"But, Malfoy," said Ginny, sweetly. "You seem to think it's _my_ idea. You're mistaken – Hermione here thought of the whole thing – _Hermione, I have no feeling in my big toe anyway _– she deserves the credit."

Malfoy turned glacial eyes on Hermione.

"Granger? Inspired, really. But, as I told you yesterday, retribution will not be long in coming. As for _you_, Weaslette, back off fast, and I might not have to undergo an amusing although dull duel with Scarhead and the Astonishingly Dim Sidekick over your murder –"

"_Stop it_!" burst out Hermione. "Both of you! You're being such children! Ginny – thanks, but you really didn't need to help me this far. Perhaps he's right – you don't want to have Harry and Ron on your back. And you're late for History of Magic, you'd better scoot. As for you, Malfoy – just... go away."

Ginny's mouth tightened.

"Great, Hermione. Bollocks you don't need my help. That really shows what you think of our friendship. Thanks for nothing."

And with that, she set off down the corridor. Hermione turned to find Malfoy clapping in amusement. Looking at him with disgust, she tried to follow, but was caught short by a hand grabbing her arm.

"No, no, Granger. You walk with _me_."

He steered her towards the Greenhouses. Hermione glared at him, furiously.

"What is your problem with annoying my friends?"

"Granger, we've covered this. I don't _make_ you do anything. I don't _make _you irritate your friends – you do that quite nicely yourself. However –" he released her arm – "I _can_ make you see just what you're getting into here."

Hermione looked around. He'd led beyond Greenhouse 4, into a little enclosed niche shadowed from view. Puzzled, Hermione looked Malfoy in the eye.

"What are you doing?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I'm backing you into a corner, Granger."

Alarm bells started ringing in Hermione's head. She quickly tried to dispel them. In any other situation this would be very, very bad. But this was Malfoy. She had no right to be afraid.

Even if she had no right, she still was.

"Why? Going to rape me?" she said baldly, hands on hips. Just you try...

Malfoy grinned.

"If I was, you wouldn't be able to do much."

He waved something in front of her face. It was her wand.

"Give it back."

"Of course, I don't rape girls."  
"I see. Only boys. Give me my wand."

"What would be the point?"

"Very true. Give me my wand, _please_."

"It's better when the girl's willing."

"Yes. Malfoy, give me my wand."

"But, if I've interpreted Weaslette correctly, then you _are_ willing, so it wouldn't technically be rape, am I right?"

"Precisely – what? Oh, for _fuck's sake_, Malfoy, give me my wand!"

And with that, Hermione launched herself at him. Caught off guard, he toppled backwards onto the ground, Hermione on top of him.

The world stopped. Blue eyes stared into brown. Draco tried to take in an adequate breath. The inability had nothing to do with Hermione's weight across his body, and much more to do with the proximity of the large, velvety-dark eyes inches away. Draco swallowed. Eyes still locked to his, Hermione leaned down, and kissed him.

It was soft, almost teasing, and Draco hissed quietly as another part of his body responded instantly to the sensation. Hermione took no notice, and continued to kiss him, lips gently caressing his, her tongue moving into his mouth to twine with his own. Draco had never been so turned on in his life. He carefully eased them both into a semi-sitting position, Hermione on his lap, all the while never breaking the delicious contact. Cradling her head with one hand, he let the other smooth down her hair, casually tucking it behind her ear, then tracing his fingertips down the sensitive side of her neck. She shuddered, and pulled him closer. Almost without thinking, Draco pulled aside her school cardigan, and, with expert fingers, popped open the three top buttons on her shirt. Hermione gasped, and Draco chuckled quietly, tearing his lips away from hers to softly trail them down the long line of her neck to nip her collar-bone, soothing the bite with his tongue. He continued to explore the base of her neck for as long as he possibly could, for his eyes were continually drawn to the curves of luscious flesh just hidden by her shirt – curves of flesh that he'd dreamt about. Moving his lips to the other side of her neck, he carefully opened the next two buttons of the confining shirt to gain better access. Without giving himself time to think, ignoring her squeak of shock, he yanked down the cups of her bra.

And stared. He – or his imagination – had been right. Her breasts were beautiful. Galvanised, he cupped them with his hands, hands roughened by clinging onto a broomstick since the age of three. Dizzy with longing, he leaned forward, and pulled one pink-tipped nipple into his mouth, smiling against Hermione's skin as he heard her ragged gasp. He licked it softly, then nipped and worried it, alternating with swipes and circles with his tongue, sucking softly, then harder until Hermione moaned, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him forwards, on top of her. It occurred to Draco that he was lying down, she was on her back, and that they should probably be taking this slower, but at that moment, he couldn't honestly give a fuck. All he cared about was keeping as close contact with her as he could, because if he let go, it might just be a Weasley Patent Daydream, and she might vanish

The thought made Draco hiss quietly, and Hermione shivered again at another new sensation against her breast. She was dazed, her head spinning, just praying that whatever he was doing – and by God it felt amazing – he would just keep doing it.

Oh, please, please, please, please -

"Oops! Sorry!"

Footsteps pounded away from them. They broke apart, each determined to look anywhere but at each other. There was a burst of hysterical giggling from the distance, then an excruciating silence.

Draco eased himself off Hermione. Both avoided the other's eyes, still breathing hard. Hermione was the first to move. Standing up, she straightened herself up, cheeks crimson, brushed the grass and earth from her skirt and robes, and automatically flattened her hair with her hands. Her legs were shaking. The silence was tangible, so thick that Draco felt he had to say something.

"Who was that, do you know?"

"No idea," replied the girl, shortly. "Planning to hex them, were you? Stop them from betraying your guilty little lapse?"

"Either speak normally, or shut up, Hermione."

The girl looked at him.

"Were you worrying they were Slytherins? In case word got out that you'd kissed a filthy Mudblood."

Not expecting an attack, it was like being torpedoed from underneath.

"I have no idea what the fuck you're on about," said Draco, trying to keep his voice calm. "Explain, or, I repeat, shut up."

"_Why did you stop_?"

Her question was yelled at full volume. The silence that followed was even more agonising than the first. The boy simply stared at her, and Hermione could feel the flush creeping up her face. Malfoy got to his feet to stand opposite her once again.

"Why did I stop?" he said, slowly, incredulously. "Why did I _stop_? What the hell do you mean 'why did I stop'? Would you rather we – yes, Hermione, _we_ – had carried on and ended up fucking right there in front of them? Because that's what would have happened, believe me."

"I just wish that _for once_ you could finish what you started! What do you think I'm doing this for? I'm practically prostituting myself just so that you'll do it – me! Do _me_!" screamed Hermione.

Draco hadn't thought something could hurt this much. She hadn't been looking for a friend, or even something more, which he'd felt perilously close to becoming. No, she was just looking for someone to make her over. He might have been an inflatable doll, for all she cared. Draco refused to let these painful and unexpected feelings spill over into speech, so he clung to the emotion he could rely on: anger.

"What the hell do you want to be known as? A slut who'll drop her knickers for any halfway decent guy that walks by. Jesus," he spat in disgust. "And this is Hermione Fuckng-Perfect Granger. Where's your self-esteem? If you're looking for a good time, try it on with one of your pathetically inept friends, not me. Not that you're worth it, of course. I wouldn't come near you with a ten foot broomstick. Now fuck off, before I decide against my rule on rape. God knows it would serve you right."

Hermione had been standing silently through his tirade, outwardly impassive. Now, as he glared at her, her face crumpled. She was confused, frustrated and, for some reason, hurt at the knowledge that before now she had accepted: that she loved him, but he didn't love her. He'd made that much clear in that little speech. Heart completely torn to pieces, she turned to run. For the second time, a hand seized her arm.

"Granger–"

Hermione was beyond all reason, all comfort, and would die rather than turn round and look at Draco – Malfoy – oh, who _cared_ what she was meant to be calling him now. Her only option was escape.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, _leave me alone_! All of you! Leave – me – _alone_!"

And with a final tug, she tore herself away from him, and ran, stumbling over rocks and threads of long grass in her desperation to put some distance between herself and this person who could cause her so much pain and humiliation. She was going to run, and run, and run, and run...

Behind her, Malfoy stood alone, completely expressionless. In his hand was the fragment of wool that had ripped from Hermione's cardigan when she'd wrenched away from him, and her wand, for which he'd grabbed her to return, in a heady rush of fury, pain and guilt. He rubbed it in between his fingers. Inside, he buzzed with all the wild mix of emotions he was feeling, which were too deep for him to explain, even to himself. Impassive, he walked towards the castle once more.


	11. Chapter 11

Hello people!

Back from pre-civilisation, and plunged straight into the world of work. Well, school. So - out of the goodness of my heart, and because I love you all very, very much, I'm taking time out from my Attempting-to-Pass-my-A-Levels Scheme to upload another chapter for y'all.

Ain't I nice?

Please review, because I need the clapping to get me through triple French on a Tuesday morning. And it's raining here. There's a man named Noah down the road who's intent on scrounging every bit of wildlife he can find. Something about the end of the world and a flood.

All in all... you know what to do.

Luvyoulots,

xari xxx

* * *

"Frustration," Draco muttered, dully to the portrait to the Heads of School's quarters.

"No."

Draco looked up, disbelieving.

"What?"

"I said, 'no'," said the portrait, patiently. "It's the second day of the month, and the password has changed. As it normally does."

Draco could have laughed. Surely things couldn't possibly have got any worse?

"Listen," he sighed, trying to keep his voice calm. "You've seen me every day for the past... what... two weeks. Come on, I look exactly the same, I'm not behaving any differently from normal –"

"Actually, you're a bit more polite today, unusually," interrupted the portrait, dryly.

"See? I'm making an effort. No-one's going to know if you let me in once without giving the password."

"Not on your life," snorted the portrait. "Do you really think I'm going to let anybody just anywhere in these times? How do I know you're not a Death Eater? I'm not about to disgrace myself, thank you, like that idiot in the East Wing – Cadogan, that's it. None of the other portraits will even talk to him now – not that he was very suitable to begin with. Created by some _nobody_, he was. Not like me –" the portrait preened – "_I'm_ a Pre-Raphaelite. Letting in a murderer, I ask you..."

Draco, tired, angry and definitely not in the mood to have an in-depth conversation about the social hierarchy of paintings, lost his temper.

"Look," he snarled, "will you let me in, or will I have to give you an impromptu bath in turpentine?"

The portrait raised its eyebrows.

"Now I _definitely_ know it's you. Same beautiful turn of phrase, sense of charm..."

"Going to let me in, then?"

"Of course not! It's more than my job's worth!"

Draco exploded.

"Oh, for fuck's –"

Unexpectedly, mid-expletive, the portrait swung open, revealing Ginny, unusually serious. She and Malfoy stared at each other silently for a couple of minutes, the hostility radiating from Ginny almost tangible. Suddenly, she turned, calling after her:

"I suppose you'd better come in, then."

The portrait's muffled voice came, apoplectic, from against the wall.

"You can't do that! He might be one of You-Know-Who's people – you never know!"

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped the girl. "I'd know him anywhere – he's an asshole with shit for brains who thinks with his dick. I can't think of anyone else like him."

She walked into the Head of School's Common Room, Draco following wordlessly behind. Ginny flung herself into one of the armchairs around the empty fireplace. Strange, Draco reflected, that he and Hermione rarely used this room, except as a by-pass to their own rooms. Ginny cleared her throat, looking at him from across the room, and he had a curious sensation of the Inquisition.

"I thought you and Granger had fallen out?" he muttered, pacing around the room.

"I don't hold grudges," replied Ginny, coolly. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me why my best friend has been sitting in her room, crying her eyes out?"

"And you haven't asked her yourself?" Draco dropped down onto the sofa with an imitation of his usual languor, desperate to regain control over the situation he felt he had created.

"Why don't _you_ try it, since I have a funny feeling it's all to do with you, anyway?" Ginny retorted.

Sighing, Draco got to his feet and stalked to the door between his room and Hermione's.

"Granger!" he barked. "I know you're in there – stop sulking, come out and make polite conversation with Weaslette, so I don't have to."

There was no answer.

"Granger –"

"Give it up, Malfoy," murmured Ginny from somewhere in the background. Draco hardly heard her.

"Granger – Hermione," Draco's voice dropped, and a pleading note he couldn't help entered its tone. "Look, come out... please."

Still, silence. Draco felt the anger rising in him again. Why should this be his fault? Why the fuck should Hermione be blaming him? It was her who had led him on, goaded him beyond endurance, made him think that she might actually feel something for him besides loathing, and then had turned out to be completely shallow. What right did she have to sit in her room, feeling sorry for herself? Shaking with fury now, he pounded on the door.

"Hermione, if you don't open the door _right now_, I'm coming in to drag you out myself!" he yelled.

When there was yet again no response from Hermione, Draco grabbed the door-handle and pushed against the door with all his strength, only to pull away with a yelp of pain. The door-handle had burned white hot against his palm, burning it badly. Hissing, clutching his injured hand, he kicked the Hermione's door in fury, and went back to the Common Room. Ginny looked both unimpressed and unsurprised.

"No luck, Malfoy? I see you also met Hermione's party trick."

She held up her own hand, which was bandaged. Draco was completely pole-axed.

"I've got her wand," he whispered, looking at his own hand, which was starting to blister. "How can she do that if I've got her wand?"

Ginny raised coppery eyebrows.

"She said you had it – and that was the only thing she _did_ say before locking herself in. Now, what the hell happened when I left you two? You marched off, towing Hermione along, and the next thing, she's in here, howling. Tell me what happened - no excuses, no lies, Malfoy. Did you rape her?"

Draco stiffened, appalled.

"What does it have to do with you if I did? Fuck it, anyway, I'm going."

He made for the door, when –

"Stop _now_, Malfoy, or I'll hex you. With your own wand. And believe me, it'll be much stronger than a Bat-Bogey hex."

Turning round, slowly, his hands raised in surrender, Draco walked back towards the sofa and sat down, glaring at Ginny. There was a tense silence.

"How did you get my wand?" he asked, finally.

"It was simple enough. I saw you take Hermione's," Ginny answered, nonchalantly. "When you left, I thought you were going to have a civilised conversation. If I'd known you were going to rape her, I'd have –"

"_I didn't rape her_!"

Ginny looked closely at Malfoy. He was tense with anger.

"I don't – rape – people, understand? If that's the only thing you come out of this room knowing, let it be that. I _didn't_ rape her."

His shoulders suddenly drooped.

"I came pretty fucking close to it at one point, though," he muttered, and rubbed a hand, tiredly, over his eyes.

"Why?" asked Ginny, instantly. He was not going to get away with hurting her best friend.

"Because... Hey – I don't know why I'm telling you this. You were in on the entire act, weren't you?"

Suddenly fierce again, his blue eyes bored into hers. Ginny's lip curled.

"Stop trying to change the subject. What happened?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?" snapped Draco, exasperated. "You fucking know, anyway. You probably put her up to this in the first place. You want an answer? I'll give it you – I thought she was different, all right?"

Ginny sat up.

"What?"

"I thought she was different," repeated Draco, bleakly.

"How do you mean?" asked Ginny, breathlessly.

If he was trying to say what she thought he was trying to say –

"I thought... Hell, I thought she might actually like me for being myself. Not for being... I dunno... in Slytherin, out of bounds because of Scarhead and the Gutless Groupie –"

"Hey!" said Ginny, sharply. "That's my boyfriend and my brother you're talking about."

"Yes, but they're not _my_ boyfriend or _my_ brother, are they? Thank God," he added, with a shudder. "Yeah... so I thought she was all right. Until today..."

He proceeded, blankly, without any emotion in his voice, to tell her what had happened.

"...And the rest is histrionics. If she hadn't started it... or did I start it?" Draco once again ran his hands through hair already at odd angles. He sighed, resignedly.

"Not that it matters. But, you know, it gets – boring – after a while, having girls pitch themselves at you from right and left."

Ginny didn't even attempt to suppress a sceptical snort.

"I'm serious," Draco insisted. "A guy likes the chase sometimes, instead of incessantly _being_ chased, which I am."

"Your ego made the trip with you, I see," commented Ginny.

Draco ignored her.

"So, last summer I was bored, and not exactly jumping with glee at the prospect of extra fucking Muggle Studies tuition. And let's face it, Granger and I didn't have the most... harmonious of relationships –" his voice became thoughtful, almost as though he was talking to himself – "So, for about the first three weeks I tried to scare her off. I have to admit, it was fun. And it prevented me from being jumped on, or so I thought. But after I'd established that it wasn't just some elaborate plot to have me swinging by my ankles from the Whomping Willow, and that she had no interest in me sexually, I wanted her. I know," he grinned, wryly. "Bizarre. Even more bizarre, considering that beforehand, I hated her with nearly as much force as the loathing I feel for Potter.

"Anyway, it began to hit me that, as one of the few genuinely good people I know, I didn't have the right to fuck her around. So I backed off."

"You?" Ginny made a disbelieving noise.

"Yeah. I've racked my brains for a similar incident in my sordid past, and I can't find one. But, _Christ_, it was the hardest decision of my life. Even harder than the incident by the lake –" he looked, sharply, at Ginny – "which I suppose you know all about."

A shrug told him she did.

"I came back after the summer holidays, and there you two are trying your best to scupper my good intentions. I didn't think you were serious until today. And now... everything's a huge fucking mess. And Granger – Hermione – I felt she let me down."

He slumped back in his chair, his face a picture of misery, quickly covered with a blank mask. Ginny sat, gaping in her own chair, as she pieced everything together in her head and arrived at a mind-boggling conclusion.

"You're in _love_ with her?"

Draco looked away. Ginny watched him, as a faint flush appeared on his high cheekbones.

"Yeah... I suppose I am. Won't do me much good, though; I've mucked the entire thing up. Or she did. Or we both did, I suppose. Christ, what a mess."

Unknown to him, Ginny's mind was working furiously. Like the majority of the female population of Hogwarts, she had once been madly in love with him herself, and since then had longed to see him brought to his knees. Now that the moment had come, she felt only pity. Draco, as if sensing this, looked up, suddenly.

"Bet you're going to go running back to Potter and Weasley and have a right old laugh, aren't you?" he muttered.

Ginny scowled.

"Don't be so childish!" she snapped. "No, tempting though that is, instead, I'm going to betray a confidence."

Silently apologising to Hermione, she took a deep breath.

"When I said you were blind earlier, I meant more than just sex. Yes, she asked me to teach her how to get to you, but for completely different reasons than you think. Why did she start teaching you Muggle Studies? Why didn't she let that stupid, fucking 'debt' drop? Why has she been practically prostituting herself over the last couple of weeks in the vague hope that you'll notice her?"

Draco glared.

"Don't look at me. I thought _you _were providing the answers."

Ginny's glare was far more potent.

"Good God, you really are an idiot, aren't you? She _loves_ you, you absolute cretin! Right from the start, although she probably didn't know it herself. She healed you up, didn't she, after you got beaten up for misdemeanour unspecified? And God knows why, after the way you've treated her. After The Incident At The Lake – I felt it needed capitalising if you're going to refer to it so discreetly – you forbid her to express herself verbally, so she decided to express herself physically. She thought that if she wasn't allowed to love you – hey, even _like_ you – that sex was better than nothing. Then in you jump, with your endless supply of tact, call her a whore, threaten to rape her, and tell her you hate her guts. _Boys_," finished Ginny, disgustedly. "You all suffer with permanent 'Let's-See-How-Far-I-Can-Shove-My-Foot-Down-My-Throat-Syndrome, I swear."

Something caught her eye. Draco was beaming from ear to ear – that wicked, seductive grin, but tinged with a radiant, almost disbelieving happiness.

"She loves me. I _knew_ it!" he suddenly yelled. "She _loves_ me!"

"And you called her a whore, threatened to rape her, etcetera, etcetera..." added Ginny, helpfully. "What are you going to do about that?"

Some of the luminous happiness drained out of his face, and he winced.

"Ah. See dick be a Draco – bugger, I mean Draco be a dick. See Draco grovel." He sighed. "I hate grovelling."

"You want her, don't you?" demanded Ginny. "Not just in – that – sense, you know what I mean. Then swallow that monstrous ego of yours, and _go and get her_."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Weaslette, we've got the burning door to consider."

"_We_?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, _we_, Minion. Don't you want to be part of this episode of 'Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady'?"

He's breathtaking when he's happy, thought Ginny, unconsciously. Hoisting herself to her feet, she returned Malfoy's grin.

"I don't see why not. I told Hermione that my sneaky but industrious ways would come in useful one day. So, we have a plan?"

"Onwards and upwards, Minion, onwards and upwards..."


	12. Chapter 12

Folks! Hello! (Remind me never, ever to use the word 'folks' in an ordinary sentence again).

Firstly, it is with great regret, wailings and gnashings of teeth that I must tell you that this is the final chapter of 'Repaying Debts'. Stop now with your cheering and exultations! Really, no sensitivity, some people...

Anyhoo, basically, if I carry on with it, it will inevitably become one of those 35-chapter-sagas in which Hermione and Draco get tearfully married. And they are not for me.

BUT I have another fic coming out soon, so watch this space (who's it about? You REALLY need to ask?)

Ok, I'll stop talking now. By the by, there is some smut in this chapter (- it's got Draco in it, are you really surprised), so skip it if you need to.

Lots a luv, and please remember to review on this last of last chapters...

xari xxxx

* * *

Bad decision number 369: going anywhere near Draco Malfoy.

Funny how this bore a remarkable resemblance to the last time she'd had her heart broken. Only this time, she wasn't huddled in an armchair, drowning her sorrows in Firewhisky, but curled into a ball on her bed, with no-one to talk to, and the most potent heat-sensory burning spell she could think of placed on her door. Ginny was standing sentinel outside, she knew that much. But what did she and Ginny have in common now? Yes, they were both intelligent young women, no oil paintings, but pleasant enough. However, Ginny had managed to acquire – deservedly, at that – one of the nicest guys in the year. Hermione saw it all now: the wedding, the house in suburbia, the 2.5 children... Whereas she herself had simply done what scores of girls had done before her: gone for the beautiful badass of the school with the fidelity quotient of your average tom-cat.

She was now pretty sure that she had a sign sellotaped to her forehead, reading:

'Pricks and bastards within a 10-mile radius, flock to me! Please, feel free to stomp on my heart with your size 11 feet!'

Well, that was it. No more men. Maybe she could pull of being a lesbian, at a pinch. She could get together with Millicent Bulstrode. Millicent and Hermione. Perhaps that was her destiny. Or she could revert to Rachel's plan, move to Troed-y-rhiw and become a spinster with two-dozen cats.

Why was it that her self-deprecating and frankly weird sense of humour only emerged in moments of misery?

Hermione wiped away the tearstains from her face, wincing as a load of smudged mascara came with it. She uncurled herself from her nest of blankets, sodden and sticky with tears, went to her sink and splashed her face with cold water. Standing up straight again, she looked sternly into the mirror.

"No more men!" she stated, firmly. "Never. Not in a million years."

"Well, that's a pity," drawled a voice behind her. "Because I'm here to make you an offer."

Hermione jumped a foot in the air, and spun around, clutching onto the sink as she almost over-balanced. Draco Malfoy stood, silhouetted against the window, his face serious.

"How did you get in here?" Hermione gasped, still clutching at the sink.

Draco held up his broomstick, which he had concealed behind his back.

"Once I figured out that your window was open, it didn't take much to get my broomstick and do what I'm best at. Well," he added, wickedly, head on one side, "not what I'm _really_ _best_ at."

"Great. Wonderful. I don't care. Just – get out, will you? I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to have anything to do with you ever, ever again! Do you understand me? You know what; I don't even care any more, so you can just get out." Hermione marched over to the door, and stood beside it, toes tapping the worn carpet.

"Rather circular argument, that," Draco mused, putting a hand in his pocket. Seeing him draw out a wand, Hermione flattened herself against the wall.

"You try anything with that, and I will kill you, I swear, Malfoy."

"What?" he taunted, "with no wand? Be my guest."

Unknown to Hermione, Draco was trying every trick in the book to play for time. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned – or, he thought, wryly, a woman he'd hurt badly. He had to behave like his normal self, just to keep arguing with her. The more he argued, the longer he remained in that room. He would have to pick his moment carefully.

He collapsed into the nearest armchair, watching her. He was impressed by her self control. If he were her, wouldn't have bothered with spells – he'd have punched him through the wall. Though, he thought, that wasn't really Hermione's style. Casually, he gestured towards the other chair.

"Have a seat," he invited, mockingly. Hermione's eyes narrowed at the insult of being told to sit in her own room. Nevertheless, she went over to the bed, as far away from him as it was possible to get and still be present. There, she sat down, pulling loose threads out of her duvet cover. He could feel her mortification and antagonism from where he was sitting. Hoping that actions would speak louder than words, Draco threw her wand over to the girl. It landed next to her, and she picked it up, smiling as she rolled it in her fingers. Taking a deep breath, Draco stood up.

"Hex me," he muttered, spreading his arms out. If she wanted, she could get him straight between the eyes.

"What?" Hermione snapped. She was not in the mood for games.

"Hex me," he repeated, meeting her eyes. "Come on – I deserve it enough."

"You deserve – what?" she said, incredulously.

"I deserve the worst you've got," he explained, patiently. "What I said earlier... look, I don't have the right, and frankly, I don't have the words to say what I mean. But I am really, truly sorry, and if cursing me into oblivion will in any way help to – mend – things between us, then, well, go for it!"

Hermione was staring at him and not in a flattering way either. In fact, she was staring at him as though he was insane.

"You – you think I'd hex you for –" she spluttered. "_Men_! You all think you can sort out everything with violence, from the least little thing to an epic disaster. Sure, hexing you might make me _feel_ better for moment, but it wouldn't go a long way to healing anything in the long run. Like putting a plaster on a broken leg. I'd still remember – I still _do _remember," she muttered, bitterly –"what you think of me, and believe me, that's going to stay with me for a while."

"What I _said_ I thought of you – maybe what I thought of you at the time, but...just, here me out, all right?"

"Why?" demanded Hermione. "So you can come up with another inane suggestion to get yourself off the hook?"

"No!" Draco retorted. "So I can explain something... some _things_."

He paused for a second, and turned his back to her, running his fingers through hair that was already sticking up on end.

"The truth – the truth is that I was pretty angry when I said all those things."

"No shit, Sherlock," said Hermione, sarcastically. Draco ignored her.

"You see, you're the first person outside Slytherin to treat me like a human being. The guys hate me, and the girls – well, they see me as some kind of walking, talking dildo."

"Thanks for that," muttered Hermione, shaking her head.

"No problem. Remember that beating I got, when you healed me? Yeah, I get those quite a lot. And I suppose I deserve them. My point is that you've never tried to beat me up –"

"I have!" protested the girl. "In Third Year!"

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" He smiled, slightly. "_Apart_ from Third Year, you've never tried to beat me up, you've never made me feel worthless, and you've never tried to jump on me."

"You obviously haven't been paying attention these last couple of weeks, then," mumbled Hermione, going red.

"That was why I was so pissed off. Like I said to Weasel Minima, I was trying so fucking hard to keep away from you, and there were you, parading about, pretending to be something you're not!"

Hermione went even redder, if it was possible.

"Hell, I liked you in your old jumper and ripped jeans. It proved that you truly didn't care what everyone thought, and that you wouldn't change yourself just to appeal to other people. It proved you had brains. I _like_ arguing with you, hey, I liked it when we were actually _talking_. I like making you laugh, I like it when you get cross and glower at me, I like making you blush – just like that, by the way. Christ!"

Hermione noticed that he was edging slowly towards her, like Crookshanks did when he wanted to get onto her parents' bed at home.

"I suppose, what I'm trying – pretty badly, not succeeding much – to say is..." he took a deep breath.

"I love you."

The girl gaped at him.

"You... what?"

"I – I love you. And, if you can find it in that bloody golden, bottomless heart of yours to forgive me, I'd like to ask if we could have another go of it? Officially, this time."

Hermione was still reeling. Draco looked at her, closely, an expression of concern on his face.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Hermione was, in fact, attempting to pull herself together, and stop melting into a girl-shaped puddle on the floor. This was ridiculous. She couldn't weaken now! He was supposed to be suffering. But, oh, the look on his face, and he said he loved her... Precisely! _Said_ he loved her! Hadn't Viktor said the same thing? Come to think of it, no he hadn't. It was the first time that _anyone_ had said it to her. Oh, Lord, Hermione, get a grip!

"I'll think about it," she said, with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Think fast," said Draco, grinning. "Remember, I have the added bonus of Weaslette on my side, and this time, she's pretty determined."

"But – what – _why _do you love me?" wailed Hermione. "You can't! You hate me! I'm the goody-two-shoes with no life, remember? And you? Ginny calls you 'Super Stud', for crying out loud! Logically, the two aren't compatible."

Draco snorted.

"'Super Stud'? Really? Good Lord. Anyway, getting back to the point, you're not an idiot, so don't behave like one; I _don't_ hate you. I thought we'd covered this. And haven't you ever heard the phrase 'opposites attract'? And what, for the love of God, does _logic_ have to do with this? Love isn't meant to be logical."

"_Everything's_ logical," Hermione murmured to herself, before hitting on a new argument. "And anyway, if you don't hate me, what's to say I don't hate you? You've always been an absolute shite to me, and that's aside from your insulting tirade earlier –"

"No, you don't," corrected Draco, patiently.

"What?" grumbled Hermione.

"You don't hate me either. In fact, according to Weaslette, your feelings are exactly the same as mine. Next question."

"I'm going to kill Ginny," muttered Hermione, crossly. She frantically searched for another way to drag Draco back to his senses, before this got a long way out of hand. Finding one, she leapt to her feet in triumph.

"Maybe I don't care what people think, but you definitely do! Just think what your little pals in Slytherin would say if they found out about this. And Harry and Ron! I mean, they'd be –"

Draco kissed her. Hermione was so shocked that she shoved him away, then, frightened that he'd taken offence, began to apologise:

"I'm sorry, I –"

Draco chuckled.

"Just wanted to shut you up, sweetheart. But, since you said sorry so nicely..."

He kissed her again, and Hermione threw her arms around his neck. She felt him smile against her mouth, and opened her eyes to see his were closed, long lashes sweeping his cheekbones. He slid his tongue into her mouth, and she shivered at the now familiar sensation, and returned the favour. Draco moved long fingers to her slender waist, and yanked her closer to his body. Feeling the obvious evidence of his arousal, an unusually wicked thought popped into Hermione's mind. Without breaking the kiss, she moved her hips rhythmically against his, satisfied when she heard him hiss, and tighten his grip on her waist. Moving his lips from hers, Draco bit her earlobe softly, before finding her stud earring and drawing into his mouth. A full-bodied shudder wracked Hermione's frame, as Draco continued to explore her ear, fingers now creeping up to caress her neck and jaw. Almost without thinking, her mind focused simply on skin-to-skin contact, Hermione attempted to unbutton his shirt, fingers shaking slightly. Grabbing his school tie – which she deeply, deeply resented as preventing aforementioned skin-to-skin-contact – she then tried to yank it over Draco's head. Without much success.

Draco choked, and broke away, laughing, un-knotting the tie, and throwing it on the floor.

"So that's it? You were going to lull me into a false sense of security – or, at least, turn me on so badly I couldn't think straight – then strangle me with my own tie. Clever..."

Hermione scowled at him, and with a single-mindedness that blocked out any returning smart comment, re-started unbuttoning his shirt. Draco braced himself for the impatient rip and the buttons to fly in all directions. When it didn't come, he looked down, and saw Hermione glaring at his shirt, and popping open the buttons with what seemed a conscious act of thought, he grinned, stilled her with hands on her shoulders and swiftly pulled it over his head.

Hermione stared at his naked chest in open fascination, running her fingertips over his collarbone, his abs and his stomach. It was Draco's turn to shiver as her cold fingers glided over his skin. Feeling her hand progress downwards, he seized her wrist.

"Unless you want this to end very, very quickly, I suggest you keep your hands –" he drew her fingers up to his chest once again – "up here."

A rueful look crossed his face, and his eyes became thoughtful. Hermione glanced up at him, then quirked an eyebrow.

"Draco?" She waved a delicate hand in front of his eyes. "Earth to Draco? Home planet calling..."

He jumped slightly, and sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"Look," he said, finally, "I kind of wanted to take this slowly."

"Oh?" Hermione murmured, trailing her fingers up and down his torso. Draco gritted his teeth.

"I mean it," he continued, determination in every syllable, "I don't want you to think that sex is all I care about."

"Really?" A wicked glint had come into Hermione's eyes.

"Yes," he shuddered as inquisitive fingers brushed over his nipple, "So if we take this – well, everything, really – a step at a time –"

He broke off, as the pair of hands on his chest shoved, hard. Caught off guard, he fell backwards, and landed with a _thump!_ on Hermione's bed, Hermione landing neatly on top of him. He stared at the girl who was sitting on him, a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat on her face.

"Well," he managed to say, "I take it that 'taking it one step at a time' is not a popular suggestion?"

"No," answered Hermione, still grinning, "It's not."

Draco wore a smirk as evil as Hermione's.

"Good," he muttered, and before Hermione could work out what was going on, the world spun, and she found herself flat on her back, Draco's weight across her body.

"That's better," he said, happily, and in response to her frown, "So I like being in control. What?"

Hermione scowled, and opened her mouth to deliver a long speech on the history of feminism. Suddenly, Draco was kissing her again, and she found she didn't particularly care about feminism. Or anything else, for that matter.

"There does seem to be one problem, though," Draco gasped, breaking away.

"Mmm?"

"I appear to be half naked, whereas you are fully clothed, which, I believe is simply unacceptable."

In one fluid movement, he pulled Hermione's jumper and shirt over her head, and dropped them on the floor. Her bra soon joined the pile of discarded clothing. It occurred to the girl that, naked from the waist up, she should be blisteringly embarrassed, but, looking at the way Draco was staring at her, she couldn't bothered. As Draco dipped his head, and latched his mouth onto her nipple, Hermione's world spun once again. She fought to keep her mind in a semi-coherent state as he bit and sucked one bud, tracing tormenting circles around the other with a taunting finger, until her back arched and her breasts were screaming with sensitivity. Hermione barely noticed the other hand snaking down her body, until she felt her skirt slide to the floor. A thought hit her, and she struggled to an upright position.

"Now, that's unfair," she said, severely, attempting to get her breathing back to normal. "Now _I'm_ the one who's nearly naked, and _you_ seem to have _at least_ two items of clothing."

It was rather hard to be stern and offended when Draco Malfoy was looking up at one with wicked eyes, and an innocent expression. Even harder when his mouth was still at one's breast, doing frankly sinful things with his tongue.

Draco drew his mouth away with a final soft lick, smiling at the shiver that ran through Hermione's body.

"That does seem a little unreasonable," he admitted, mock-seriously, "Give me a sec."

He wriggled his lean body out of his trousers, and he felt a blast of pure male satisfaction as Hermione's eyes, falling to his boxers, widened. Grinning, he lay down beside her once again.

"Right – do we feel we've sufficiently broken – no, _destroyed_ - the mood, or must I tidy this tip you call a room before we can... ah... resume?"

Hermione's voice came, muffled against his chest.

"All work and no play makes Draco a dull boy," she commented, giggling, "although, if we could, y'know, wash the curtains, I would feel _so_ much better –"

She squeaked, as, ever unexpected, Draco flipped her over, wearing his smuggest smirk.

"One day," Hermione muttered, wearily, "You will read 'The Handmaid's Tale' or 'The Bell Jar', and therefore will understand the concept of feminism, or at least –"

She broke off, abruptly, with a moan, as Draco's hand slid under her knickers, and started rubbing, gently.

"That's mean," Hermione gasped, "You can't do that – _distract _me in the middle of a lecture, just when I'm getting into my stride..."

The sentence trailed off, and she bit her lip, eyes closing, as Draco applied more pressure.

"Well, I'm getting into my stride as well," he teased. Even with her eyes shut, and her mind doing cartwheels, Hermione knew he was grinning unsympathetically, eyebrows raised. "Just think, dearest one, I've found a particularly effective way of shutting you up at appropriate moments. Imagine it... when I think you're getting too gabby, I just –"

Breath whistled through Hermione's teeth, as Draco's fingers traced excruciating circles around an intensely sensitive spot.

"– and there we go," he continued, blithely, "Instant silence. I'm thinking of employing this as an everyday appliance... Prefects' meetings... McGonagall's working breakfasts... weekly catch-up with Dumbledore... oh, the possibilities..."

Noticing her spine tense up, teeth clamping her bottom lip so ferociously he thought she'd bite it through, he knew she was close to the edge. He deliberately slowed the movements of his fingers, withdrawing the pressure slightly, coaxing the response from her. He was not disappointed. Hermione's back arched as she desperately sought the missing contact, and a moaned expletive escaped her lips.

"Language," taunted Draco, chuckling, "Still, maybe if you ask me _nicely_ –"

It was his turn to break off, gasping, as Hermione repaid the favour, sneaking a sly hand under his boxers to grasp him.

"Now, that – that really _is_ mean," he panted.

Hermione smiled, sweetly, and lightly began to run her hand up and down his length.

"Problem, _darling_?"

Draco glared, his capacity for rational thought trickling steadily away, as his mind focused of the movement of her hand. Hermione, grinning, smugly, continued her ministrations, the pressure and speed of her hand increasing. Draco gritted his teeth.

Inside, Hermione was slightly worried. Draco – well, yes, fine, she admitted it, the rumours were true – was _huge_ and – good God! - was getting bigger with every stroke of her hand. Hermione was sure of a good many things in life, but one thing she was definitely _unsure_ about was whether he was going to... well, fit.

This concern led her to unconsciously tighten her hand. Draco's control, which had been hanging by a thread of control, snapped. With a growled curse, he dragged off her underwear, kicked himself out of his boxers, braced himself above Hermione, and thrust. Hard.

Hermione cried out. Through the clouds of lust fogging his head, Draco's sharp brain clicked into action. That was not a cry of delirious pleasure instigated by yours truly. That was, most definitely, a cry of pain. God, she was tight. Very tight. Too tight.

Ah... problem.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, staring down at Hermione.

Her teeth were clenched against the pain, her small hands gripping his forearms, yet the girl managed to open her tightly-shut eyes, and smile, shakily.

"Surprise..." she murmured, faintly, hissing in protest as he moved a little, still in shock.

"Granger –"

"A little late for formalities, isn't it, _Draco_?" her breathing was becoming regular, her eyes no longer watering. "I like the way this feels," she added, conversationally.

And it was true: she did. After the initial stab of pain, it had faded, leaving her feeling – full, yes, but there was something underneath the fullness, and she could tell that it would be oh, so _good_ when it broke over her.

Oh, dear. Draco was still scowling, and worse, showing no sign whatsoever of moving.

"Granger – Hermione –"

"Move, please? Draco..." coaxed Hermione, allowing a whine to enter her voice. Then, when he didn't budge, obviously aghast, she suggested, patiently:

"Before we grow old, Malfoy."

"No," snapped Draco, "No way. Not until you've explained why –"

"Oh, for _fuck's sake, Draco_!"

Forcing her hips upwards, she successfully tipped him over the edge of reason. Only this time when he moved, there was no pain, just a tiny ember of that _something_ from earlier, growing stronger every time he thrust into her. Hermione gasped, then moaned as it grew, desperately meeting his thrusts with hers. She was near breaking point, when he stopped, suddenly, and Hermione whimpered. She'd been so close, so very close.

"Hang on," Draco whispered, his voice hoarse. Grabbing the pillow, he pushed it under her, lifting her hips, and then pushed back into her, again. Hermione let out a strangled cry at the change of angle, back arching until Draco was afraid she'd snap in half. Colours exploded behind Hermione's eyes, as the pleasure grew almost unbearable, and she hurtled rapidly towards the peak, frantically urging it on. At last, with a final thrust, she screamed silently as wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her, and her tenuous grip on consciousness faded.

She came to, completely disorientated and utterly relaxed, a grin spreading across her face. She flung an arm out beside her, intending to alert Draco to her presence before surreptitiously sneaking in for a hug. Her arm met with cold sheets. Sitting up, sharply, Hermione scanned the room. He couldn't have gone! He couldn't! If he had, she'd kill him very, very dead. Or, let's face it; she'd have a good cry beforehand. Or start a club – 'We've All Been Fucked and Forgotten by Draco Malfoy'. On her second sweep of the room, she spotted him, lounging in her armchair, clad only in a pair of jeans. It was just dark, the new moon turning his eyes silver. He was not gazing at her with the adoration expected of one who had just deflowered his beloved. In fact, he appeared to be glaring at her. Hermione sighed.

"You're angry, aren't you," she asked, quietly. His scowl deepened.

"No shit, Sherlock," he replied, sarcastically. "Why the fuck didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Erm... I meant to. I did." Hermione murmured, untruthfully, and then in response to the eyebrows almost on a par with Draco's hairline, she surrendered.

"Ok, ok, I _wasn't_ going to tell you. I kind of hoped we'd..." she gestured, hopelessly, "run smoothly onward. But there was a glitch –"

"A _glitch_?" Draco fought to keep his voice calm.

"- and you noticed," Hermione finished, fingers pleating the sheets with embarrassment. This was not the topic she'd had in mind for post-coital conversation.

"'A glitch'!" he yelled, finally exploding, "'a _glitch'_? You almost gave me a heart attack! That was not a glitch. 'A glitch' is when your broomstick doesn't work. 'A glitch' is when your teacher notices you've been copying answers from the back of the textbook. That was _not_ a glitch! That was 'let's make Draco die of shock, or if that doesn't work, make him feel very, very guilty'!"

"I'm _sorry_," muttered Hermione, defensively, "but I thought that maybe, you wouldn't go through with it... if you knew."

Draco sat up, and stared at her, incredulously.

"Granger..." he said, slowly, "I'm _me_."

The girl blinked.

"Oh, yes," she admitted, "Yes, you are."

Sighing, Hermione ran her fingers through her tousled hair, and tried to untangle herself from the sheets twisted around her legs.

"I suppose I'd better get dressed. I hate sitting around in pyjamas all day. Or –" she looked down, sheepishly, "- nothing."

The boy eyed her from his chair.

"You really aren't a bit romantic are you?" he asked, a smile beginning to form at the corners of his mouth. Hermione frowned, as she inched her way to the side of her bed.

"Says the guy who just bawled me out for being a virgin. Heading back to the original topic of discussion before our... detour, what are we going to do about us?"

Draco groaned.

"Not again! Hermione, dearest, frankly irritating bookworm, there are _many_ things you are good at, but justifying the circular argument is not one of them. Can't we just accept that there is an 'us', and leave it at that?" He pleaded. "I can feel a headache coming on just thinking about it."

"You _will_ have a headache if I chuck that hairbrush at you," growled Hermione. "At least let's put down some guidelines, so we know what we're letting ourselves in for, ok?"

She put her feet on the floor, and tried to stand up, wincing as her knees buckled slightly. Draco caught her by the elbow, a meditative look upon his face.

"Guidelines? All right. I... don't do soppy owls in the middle of the day."

"Nor do I," replied Hermione, threading through their previously discarded clothes to her wardrobe. "Ok, my turn. I don't do needless displays of affection in public."

"You should be so lucky," retorted Draco, watching as Hermione rummaged through her wardrobe, obviously looking for something. "I don't want to meet your parents."

"Do I really want to meet your father?" Exclaimed the girl from the depths of the wardrobe, "No, I didn't think so. I... I... No! _You_ can't persecute, torture or physically maim my friends."

"I see," he drawled in response, "Just mentally, then? Well, fine, you can't bitch about my friends' lack of intellect. Crabbe and Goyle, I mean. Pansy's actually pretty bright."

"I hadn't finished..." Hermione looked ominous. "You are to be civil to Harry and Ron. I mean it."

Draco winced.

"Really? 'Civil'? As in 'insufferably polite'? What do you want me to do – lie on the floor and beg them to trample me?"

She looked at him, oddly.

"Er... no. That would be bizarre and ever so slightly masochistic. Look, all I want – no, all I'm _asking_ you to do is to stop sniping so much, so as to avoid the full out brawl in public. It's _so_ embarrassing, especially as you end up winning most of the time."

"Why? Is it not good for the Gryffindor morale? Is it my fault Weasley's fists come to the defence of his honour when his brain can't come up with a good retort within five minutes?"

Hermione glanced round her wardrobe, and tried, unsuccessfully, to glare at him, before dissolving into giggles.

"That's not funny," she protested, weakly, still giggling. Finally emerging from her wardrobe, she came to stand in front of Draco. Uncertain, she rocked back on her heels, hands buried in her pockets.

"What do you think?" she asked.

He grinned in response. She wore her old, petrol-blue jersey, complete with holes at the elbows, and her most ragged pair of jeans.

"Perfect," he replied, standing up, and sliding an arm around her waist. "Come on; help me to woo Potter and Weasley with my charm and your persuasive arguments."  
At the door, Hermione reached, casually for the handle, to be yanked back by Draco.

"Hang on! What about your bloody spell that took half the skin off my hand?"

"Oops, yes," Hermione blushed, guiltily, tapping the handle with her wand. "I'm sorry about that. You see, I wasn't really expecting you to come by. Your poor hand, does it hurt really badly?"

"Ah, it's not so bad – you can kiss it better later," he said slyly. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you think you're so lucky?" she asked, looking down her nose at him – a tactic only foiled by tripping over her own feet. Hauling her upright (and beet-red) again, Draco answered:

"I'm astounded to the extent that Professor McGonagall is your role model. You have the same handwriting, the same essay style. Now you're even starting to _look _like her, especially when you do that – glare at me. I'm warning you, _sweetie_, just because we're an official item, it does not mean you can employ a Scottish accent in bed. Are we clear?"

Hermione, snorting, shoved him into a wall.

"Why, of course, _Professor Snape_, I'm sure we can reach some agreement."

Together, still bickering, they sauntered down the corridor to supper.


End file.
